purple sun.

While I was trying to find the way, I kept thinking what it would be like to be swimming in a sea of faces. I was tired of the human race. I wanted to break into a new horizon. I wanted to wake up to a new sun, a purple sun, the sky would be in a velvet blue and a navy sail would be leading its stern up the shore where the waves lapped the sand in lustful sleep. I wanted to travel around the forgotten earth in a yellow submarine to a green sea made of coral reefs of orange and silver, an occasional gold anemone shaking its tentacles in the deep set and thick waves of the seabed. I held my face up high towards the sky; the purple sun was lifting its skirt gaudily up and revealing the sensuous curves of the clouds. I could taste the salty breeze of the sea wafting up towards my face, attacking me from all angles, streamlined bodies of salt, while tears streamed down my face.
Shipwrecked and downtrodden, lights would guide me home and ignite my bones. But none of the sodding business with getting abandoned on an island was getting to me. This is the ultimate experience, the only determining factor in my life that proved I could get through any adversity that stood in my way. I want to talk to you, but I hold back in restraints on an electrocution chair. I want to feel the sticky duct tape on my mouth; I do not want to talk. I will smile; I will smile behind the duct tape pressing heavily down on my mouth like an incubus refusing to wake up from a demonic slumber. I took a picture of something I saw, it is a picture of something you see now. This is the picture of me, lost, not trying to find the way and yet finding the way and I am not getting out of here. Some things have never been done. The palm trees swing heavily, its trunk supporting the heavy burden of my sorrows, the anguished wind clinging heavily to its leaves, poising them in a normal distribution curve.
You and me, we are floating on a tidal wave, together, till we reach a maximum amount of anti-gravity and unpeopleness and a permanent state of spacelessness. The tears line my salty parched lips, face and tender facial tissues with smudged mascara and coal. This is the permanent state of things. This is the point where I stop searching for the needle in the haystack, where I stop searching for the God that will never save me from this scorching misery. This is the island where you would have disappeared from me forever and only I will remain, without food, without sustenance, without human contact. Trudging continuously with valour, I have discovered that the calluses forming sorely on the foot of my soles are crying out for salvation with the penetrating heat of the helixes of the sun reaching the island through the astral spaces which separate the clayey sand and the molten fumes of the solar system.