The greyed grays of gray veiled over my four walled prison cell. My mind’s been playing tricks on me these days. It builds some false role play where my heart’s the main protagonist. He speaks out, absent tongued, once again proving the essential nothingness his silence means to the rest of society’s sell outs. Counting the countless footsteps across the synthetic white sand, I aimlessly wonder my role in this world. Why is my soul still wandering? This is purgatory I suppose, if such a concept exists. A barren wasteland streamlined with illusions to fill our gaping holes. Our hearts’ cries met with cold silence, maybe a little casual sex and some standardized guy with a six pack will make us feel whole again. Maybe making ourselves sound societally competent by reading the times and opposing capitalist framework will make our lives worthwhile. Or maybe this is all just one fucked up dream. Yeah…that sounds better. Life is all a dream. We are everything. We are nothing. The nautical nothingness is the answer to it all.