A story been written during my sleepless nights, fairly accompanied by my SSRI drugs, a cup of frappucino and a chunk of optimism. Presenting you, my deadly trial on becoming the most random, engineering-major, truly amateur fictional writer, 'Dead Cat For Zoey'. Well, if Sophie Kinsella, Emily Cassel or Stephanie Meyer happen to read my book, please, don't flush mine into your bowl. That's too rude! Haha.
blacky dead cat

Sunday, April 18, 2010

Have a good one. With your new. Twin sized bed.

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed.
With a single pillow underneath your single head.

I guess you decided that that old queen holds more space than you would need.

Now it's in the alley behind your apartment with a sign that says 'It's free'.

And I hope you have more luck with this than me.

You used to think that someone would come along.

And lay beside you in a space that they belong.

But the other side of the mattress and box springs stayed like new.

What's the point of holding onto a-never-gets-used?

Other than a sick desire for self-abuse.

And I try not to worry, but you've got me terrified.

It's like your some kind of hurry to say goodbye, say goodbye, say goodbye.

You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed.
You look so defeated lying there in your new twin size bed.

Someone genius enough wrote this. What matters most in a song is the lyrics, same goes with life, and it's principle. As you go along with these deepening words, and it's like biting every palette of your heart, tearing it apart with many sheds of regrets, as you console your heart and keep telling yourself, 'She would be fine...with her new bed...new guy...new life' but how would you know she would? Why would u still care about her?

Why would you? Because it's not about her.

It's about the bed, the boxsprings and the memories as we laid down our head against the headrest, talking about the endless future as we made fun of the wobbly fan under the ceiling that we rested, but we are not worried, 'cause the melancholy song that we lip-synced together as the mighty Sun crept up her beams into our windows, was still playing in the background, carelessly, of what we had done in the past...As the lyrics remain lyrics. And it plays through our heart. It resounded through the squished bed as we sat down. And your new twin size bed stays like new, as you still waiting for someone to replace, though the guy would be a new...And you've got me terrified..again

P/S: Just a quick review of the lyrics, nothing fishy, and has nothing to do with my book. Just sharpening some vocabs over here and scaring away those gloomy thoughts.


Shahirah Termidi said...

this is good. -______-" * sniffs*

Arin Zahari said...

no, i think is the worst thing I could write about..huhu

Shahirah Termidi said...

nooo, awesome laaaa,

Arin Zahari said...

yeah..im 'flattered'...haha

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