Purgatory, a depressing state of suffering.  Stranded for an undisclosed extent of time. Then again, the interval is the real punishment, not the condition itself. A person could accept the situation, if only time would cease to tally the fragments of heartache.

Yet time, it does count every single piece. It’s the real reason those stranded in desolation descend farther into an abyss without the chance of escaping. Time reminds those in emotional limbo everything in the universe keeps going without a second glance at your pain. Everything progresses, moves on. Everything except you. Watching the world continue while quicksand holds fast and wrenches with fierceness.

A counterfeit smile is posed. A sad attempt at pretend, convincing others it’s not inevitable to drown. For its unbearable if anyone identifies the extent of the agony. An actor emerges from the depths of misery with an angelic expression.

Pity is a loathsome excuse to trouble a friend. It’s essential to cope with an escape and not the take down others. This chaos is impossible for anyone else to understand anyway.

Isolation, loneliness, bitterness, sorrow. All part of a recipe to mix the perfect cocktail of self-destruction. What a beautiful disintegration it could be, if only it wasn’t in that one, dismal place; purgatory.

No one wants to be deserted nowhere. Yet somehow all end up there at least once in a lifetime. Most abscond, then there are those tricked into believing they’ve made it out, yet soon come to realize the escape was all an illusion.

Illustrations created by brilliant artists with limitless imaginations. One masterpiece after another drawing you in every time. Crafting the belief, this is it; the happy ending. Yet patience holds fast, only to have the cruelality of time shatter the beautiful illusion into a million tiny pieces that’ll take an eternity to put back together.



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