What horrors ultimately befall a man when he dares to embrace the miserable secrets of his own heart? What mysteries await as he drifts off to sleep on his disconsolate bed? His dreams mingled with fears, become nightmares that drain his soul of strength, leaving a torrid, brittle shell to be swept away with the ashes of love lost, blown by the relentless winds, bursting from the breeches of hell.

Perhaps there is no soul and life is merely a pathetic, random neural synapse lost in the space-time illusion?

Terrified to discover the inversion of his own essence, he smiles amiably and nods as though he believes the rhyme of love that lulls the masses, as a teardrop of fire rolls down his cheek rapidly igniting the crusty dung of his existence.