The Other One, Who?

Like many he was proud and thought to carry the weight of a man’s inherent responsibility upon his creaking back, but unlike other men he was unable to bear this weight for much more then a second. It wasn’t for a weakness; Short and frail with ribs poking peaks through his shirt many people saw him as lesser then strong, but he was far from it. His physical stature was disproportionately limited but his mind was not simply one of a sordid sourced fool. Brilliant was what he may have been… and yet there were very few who could truly and justly appreciate his cause, appreciate his wretched search for mediocrity. He wanted to gain the smell of sensibility, the taste of tantalizing mediation. The man obviously dared to act as a child, and not as a wounded bird, but he made strides away from those realities. He made haste to leave them behind and I must admit I will never understand why… 

Obviously I would care to state that I know of one in his youthful likeness but I do not, and I likely never will for he is not something I could ever understand… or accept. Therefore I feel that it’s careful recognition may not be a trigger, but simply a trough. One that carries within it the minds and souls of sober mooks, and brings them to consumption… completion, dare I say it.




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