Nugatory

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.