I awaken slowly to the dim light of the outside world. It finds its way through the stained blinds of my empty home. My eyes press open as I strain against the wretched brightness of a world that I shun. Another day idly passing. 

I sigh reluctantly, pulling the covers from my obese and misshapen form. I slowly reach forward and grasp hold of my only real connection. I can feel the dull agony of time coursing through my hands as I seize hold of my dearest friend. 

The desperate ache of fleeting time crawls with a dull agony through my very bones. I power on my sleeping phone. A sense of nothing fills my mind. Relief. 

I scroll gently through my inbox. It’s so full of distraction from this empty life. I switch between screens, checking my channel for anything and anyone who can offer me sanctuary from this life I relinquished a long time ago. 

I’m getting older. It’s getting more difficult to breathe every day. The ash and soot from decades of smoking spreads in my lungs and sticks rancidly to my black skin. Oh my black skin, I hold it so dear to me. It’s the only thing that really matters to me anymore. I tried to care. I tried to feel for something, anything else, but the only thing left that gives me pride is something I did not even create. 

I’m so alone. So tired. I have no children. God damnit, I have no children! I tried so hard, for so many years, but it was all for naught. My entire life, a mindless oblivion of ugliness and despair. A life where my only honor is my insignificant and hollow dark flesh. 

Now, as I grow older and ever older every day, I cannot bare the thought of my desolate womb. I will never know the joy of the embrace of my own child. My own blood. I know I am cursed. 

As I slowly decay, I bury this curse in my false and trivial pride. I send messages, I record myself speaking. I tell the world of this empty power that is but a shell. Yet, my black shell is fading. If only I could be different, be someone else. Anyone else but who I am! 

I have wasted my life and I am dying alone! Yet, I find solace in my hatred of this pale devil. This hate within, I find comfort in it. And so, as I grow older, a dark woman, barren and alone, I know I will die, self-loathing and false pride being all that I own.

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Michael Anderson

CEO at inMOGUL LLC

My name is Michael Anderson and I am the owner of this website for posting and sharing stories and articles. I also have a drop shipping company that I own. I am a very independent and goal oriented person. I hope anyone who is interested in submitting a story or poem sends me their work so I can post it up on this website. You can read more about how this works and how I pay you to post up work here. Not only is using this blog a great way to get recognized for your work, it is also a excellent way to turn your poetry, stories or articles in to a profit! I started this blog in hopes that I could help people get their articles, poems and stories out there for the world to read.

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