All of these things while he wanders on regardless, pardoning himself to a real point of being a forgotten somebody
Nobody will ask him anymore, good Sir, how has been your day?
An utter necessity to pay it forward but there just seems to be no such willing ability left
A ferocious degree of modern day pain raining on down and all he can seem to do is blame everybody else
For the pity he only ever bestowed upon himself
A flask and a pepper canister – the very last sad and soliloquy things which he continues to hone on in upon
For a once strong and ridiculously resilient man now but a distant and pale shadow of his true and former self
Longing to be perfect when, really, immaculate would have done just fine
So strung out now, paranoia perhaps his one and only true remaining friend – glistening within and all around these turmoil-driven everyday sprays, whilst taking a precious sip from a flask laid immediately between his quivering knees

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