There is a man standing in the hot drenched sun,
Somewhere on an Algerian beach.
No physical description.
No one knows his name.
The wind blows back his hair,
A faceless expression.
No emotion.
Fixated on earthly pleasures,
Storyboards of orgies and ocean waves.
So bored of the endless cycle.
He doesn’t care.
Five shots to cure his boredom.
Five shots that send him spiriling into another state
Of nonexistence.
Blood on the sand,
A smoking barrel.
A corpse.
Dead.
Alive.
It doesn’t matter.
He’s the product of Satan.
He is the only God.
He is nothing, and he knows it.
Nothing but the anti-life.
The stranger stands on trial,
Accused of smoking cigarettes and denying faith.
On trial for his absurd life and plastic existence.
A cross is waved in front of his face.
He doesn’t flinch.
He doesn’t move.
The court exploited his unconscious
And the newspaper headlines read:
“The Nakedness of a Man Faced With The Absurd”.
The days drag on,
Everyday being exactly the same.
He rots into oblivion with a smile on his face,
Sitting in the corner of his cramped cell,
An innocent man
Sentenced to eternal hell.