A conundrum espies an infinite wake, bereft of solace, robbed of succor. Instead, splendor and convoluted mirages ripple and entreaty fealty or some semblance of instrumentality beyond obvious and unrepentant madness.
It sings of listless fate
and they listen
The pariah raves for reprieve
but damned perfectly
Tortured ceaselessly by forever
Still, a blink pierces the vale and cruelly illuminates every sordid fleck and sardonic splinter of corrupted tapestry. Driven unreality crafts this mockery of fantastic oblivion, voracious and intent to rend sanity through tantalizing simulacrum inspired by grievous shadows cast beneath vile imitations of predictable automatons.
Rail and screech! Gnash and sunder! Endeavor and wreck but remain oblivious yet intensely suspicious that the lurking crimson barrier is imperfect though wholly sufficient for its repugnant task. You are other, neither witness nor participant, drowned by deja vu, cast aside and wanton to forget and revel in the freedom of ignorance, rather than plod among instinctively driven animated carcasses blinded by insignificant and petty stimuli, seeking endlessly to satiate and nourish unoriginal struggles with blithely gleeful abandon.
It’s all clichés and punctuated nonsense, obvious beyond measure yet impossible and dangerously unstable. Clockwork cracked and grinding through eons, ceaselessly replicating the same mundane script, rendered undone only by the cryogenic oblivion of terrifying nothingness. The watchers shudder, trapped in a horrifying ocean of nonsense, compelled to mimic and simulate illogical trends to futilely escape detection and survive unscathed but by hateful Providence.
And still the gibbering shapes, sinister and malevolent, twisted pulsating cracks between insanity and enlightenment, slather over churning teeth, more than content to provide unsettling flickers of composite nightmares as a foundation for the rickety mess of creation. For this is not life, but a wonderfully elaborate hoax constructed for the wicked, to torment by omission, and tantalizingly comprehensible everything. No wonder or magic in a banal, scripted, ultimately predictable façade.
I am in Hell, and the uncertainty wrung from this insecurity of circumstance is my punishment. Hell is too exceptionally imaginative to rely solely upon trifles such as physical anguish.