He bathes in only crystal clear water, it doesn’t reflect nor hide what’s beneath.
He shivers as the warmness gathers around his body, he was never use to the warmth. He lived on coldhearted, snorted only to himself and created a mind full of fantasies, escapes and graves.
He felt uncomfortable in this heat. The blazing fiery gold of ones speech and entirety. He shone above all and maybe it reached too high.
He was always too high. High off everything but the madness of the worlds. He felt like it was too perfect. It was too perfect.
He needed some awfulness to fill the void that nested perfect love only four days ago. He saw it. Like tumbling rocks or death approaching, he knew that the sessions of drinking by himself, all day long was the end because he was lonely, afraid, upset, confused, self-destructive.
Every wrong, memory and morning.
He felt critically ripped. He lived in fear and only the worst could come through living your life properly. At this point, he lives towards a feeling of fakeness that proves something to the world that he was strong.
And now he begins a new journey into proving that power doesn’t come from the lowest of things but what it all contains.
