Tom

The bittersweet calm came to me like a flash of lightning on a vulnerable metal rod serving as a conductor of pain and suffering to that lingering idea which I longed for since the moment it snapped its fingers at me a few years back, the intention of isolation at the first moment of desire to break away from the lifeless companionship of the flesh and blood. All was lost except the insanity that kept me company for the days to come feeding on my irreconcilable cup of asshole. The same asshole that stood by me when I was but a phantom of my own unwilling ambitions, the same misconception of evil that long before introduced me to this so-called ideal life. A voyeuristic point of view which sparks no particular interest among many, but one that struggles on and on.

Nothing but something, something not everything, everything for nothing.

Reminiscent of the old days the man known to a few as a jester or a jerk now kneels in shame asking for another chance even in vain and discord. Not everyone has second chances, undaunted by the risks involved, stumbles forward and the crotch above their heads willingly swell at the sight of this man's misfortune.