“They say he was disturbed – someone to be pitied, feared and avoided.”
But at the end of the day he was still human. He just wore his demons on his sleeve, where some like to wear their heart. His face was of a wretched inky misery, and his eyes were of a depth one could get lost in, only to never return. The silence of the words he didn’t say blared out from his soul and his body hung loose as if it were drawn out; as if life had such all the living out of him. His skin a grey ashen, heavy-looking, solemn. His fingers thin, matching his silhouetted body. His hair, a musky black, messy, unkempt. No one should have to hold the memories he does, the memories that are imprinted into his skull, the memories that he cannot escape from. No one should have to experience the things he did, the things he lived through, when there was still life left in him. No one should have to hold themselves up the way he does, as if his thin body weighs a hundred stone, and he has lost the energy to hold it up right. No one should live the way does, because he isn’t really living, his life was taken away from him a long time ago. They say he was disturbed – someone to be pitied, feared and avoided. But at the end of the day he was still human. He just surrendered a long time ago, and no part of him could be retrieved.
|Source: We Heart It|
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