Futility

It sinks,

Descending like a faded grey stone

Into the depths of a dark blue ocean.

Swallowed towards the stomach

Like a gulp of gas gastronomically trapped behind the base of the

solar plexus,

Squeezing an oozing discomfort which floods from the pores of this wet moment

Embellishing the fabric of reality with a crude scent,

One that is just discernible enough to tickle the back of the mind,

Yet strong enough to irritate the sinuses

With the mild stinging of something too spicy and burnt.

A bubble of fragility forms in the center of the torso,

The feeling of a shy guy with an awkward smile

Attempting to approach the girl of his dreams

Is summoned forth from within with a sense of impending doom

That is reserved for rising elevators

Stuffed full of the demons who dwell in nightmares.