As shadow flees the
burning sun, I escape my heart's captor, carrying my core through a dark,
gloomy cave; my sewer of a soul, searching for any glimmering optimism that may
remain in such thickly overwhelming black mud.
Finding nothing, I
turn toward the empty expanse of my marshy mind, finally understanding the
beauty in sinking, peacefully passing inside my boring, boundless brain. Better
to be bored than bruised, I say.
Anyway, sloshing to
the center, the dull pool of discarded juices filled with monochrome ideas and
dreams splash my weakening knees. To my dismay, dipping the dripping red heart
in the liquid drenched with the stench of neutrally narcotic nutrients, the
sickening solution has not the healing properties required to stanch the wholesome
hole suffered by my organ.
Relinquishing every
inkling of hope left in my conscious, I limp towards freedom, flinging my crux
into an amorous, blissful abyss, completing my call as quickly as heavy objects
fall. Purgatory is nugatory everyone knows. Only by capitulation can the future
flow.