There rages a silent and internal war inside of this mendicant pitiful whore. Where once he was OK with drinking at night and bedding down many a wandering sprite and sleeping well into the next painful day he now sees another more bountiful way. For there is a fire that burns deep within by whose light he'll fail to lose and start to win but it must be stoked by soft warm discipline should he on this new track his journey begin. This human life rushes, a flash in the pan, and his shall be glorious instead of wan for he has begun his own patterns to know – the ones their dark faces refused him to show. Set aside that bottle and reach not for smoke but see that this fire is tended and stoked and see that the weeks and the months whizzing by are filled not with sadness but joyous war-cries such as his blue-neon and still-writhing spirit has been now expecting for about a minute.
© americanifesto / 場黑麥
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