For every murder it requires a motive.. Money.. power.. a roof on top of your head under which you are the King.. sometimes a girl.. greed.. jealousy.. i dunno may be a thousand more of them.. Some of them bare realities.. staring at your face from a distance.. blank eyed like the barrels of a loaded gun ready to pop you down any moment.. silent.. watching.. lurking reality.. and some? pure fantasy.. the fancy of thinking someone else's dreams look smarter happier, greener than yours.. whatever it be.. we always find a motive for even our dearest of dreams to turn prey.
The first one.. YOU.. You kill more of your dreams than anyone else in your life.. you grow smarter.. you understand that photography won't buy you your BMW.. or painting won't get your bills paid on time.. yet we all know of photographers who ride in BMW's and painters who do more than jus pay there bills.. But we never want to be them.. sure we want to ride BMW's and do photo shoots.. but we don wanna get there walking.. No.. you are not the only people who kill your dreams.. We all have those distant relatives who think the emerging nations will soon have a demand for Neuro surgeons and that at some far of land you earn 50 times as much money by doing half the work you do here.. they all think they know whats better for you.. In fact give life 40-50 years and you'll get there yourself.. Once a murderer always a murderer..
What case? no one complains.. no bodies found.. no murders on paper.. all that is left is that dry itchy feeling in the pit of your stomach you try to dilute with antacid when you see a good painting.. someone playing on stage with a million people shouting his name.. that could have been you.. that was once your dream..
This is your now.. living life a day at a time.. 9 hour shift on the clock.. white shirt and a tie.. giving nothing but rats ass about what you do at work.. trying to live a life that was not yours to begin with.. yet your walk the same road everyday.. not once taking right you want to.. or a stop when you need to..
All those nights you spent listening to your favorite songs thinking of your favorite girl and your perfect life.. now you spend planning and plotting on how to make more on overtime.. how to earn a suit to go with your shirt and tie.. And with all that confusion going on in your head if you still happen to stumble on an old rusty guitar lying under a pile of text books from your college, do yourself a favor.. dust it up.. fix its strings and strum it.. jus one more time.. and you will see how brutal was that night.. the night you killed your dreams..