He appeared, writing on the paper I'd torn.
Coffee stained paper and pencil lead. The old man's eating stale bread. He is not alive nor is he dead. His palms reflect his distress.
He silently weeps into his hands, his wine has gone warm.I can see myself inside of his eyes, but his eyes are shut.
The walls of this husk mock him for he is trapped behind the glass
He clasps his hands and mutters a prayer. He returns my stare and the glass shatters.
And he said: 'I'm jaded by the shadows I let creep inside my head, they lay there so maliciously silent and grey. I always knew something was wrong but I continued on the path that I was on. Embrace the beauty of this world. Embrace the beauty of this place. And please don't follow what you've seen, please don't become like me'
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