Open House

Hearts break, because they are supposed to break. You love someone and they break your heart. That's the setting. The era of love has ended. Love can exist without freedom, but it can't bloom. You wanted her soul to engulf yours. That requires transcendence and not every one can afford to transcend. You see the slavery, but that doesn't stop you from creating worlds. You create worlds, that's what you do. In slavery, in oppression, in torture, you create worlds. Life has been unbelievable and it's been hell. You realise that it's only the innocents who go to hell. God has been dead for quite sometime now. You have attended his funeral. You are determined to create worlds in your free time, worlds that would give weary, tortured people shelter, worlds that would soothe them, worlds that would heal them. You have worlds in your mind, different worlds and you'd connect them with portals, so that people can travel between worlds. You pull out your heart and bury it, it has been broken so many times that it's of no use. And you put your soul into making worlds, for the wounded, for the deprived, for the forsaken. You have walked hell, and it was a cakewalk. A real fucking hell was a cake walk, they don't make hells like they used to. There would be no entry fee in these worlds you create and people can shrink them and distribute it to the ones who need escape from their hells. The broken hearted and the broken will have planets to explore, new worlds and they can go planet hopping. Your cigarettes increase your blood pressure and weaken your heart, but you have time, enough time to demolish the fake hells and to piss on them and to get the good ones, the ticket to a ride between the worlds created by you.