(no subject)
His shadow sat and empty spaces filled his void while days passed by without a word, and laughing did naught but help his demeanor, his anger got the best of battles. Shackled life a convict living, dying wasn’t what he feared; breaking free from confines that he made inside his mind, escaping droughts of free-form thinking kept him sane in whole. Dapper Dan is what he called and answered to alike, but one for him and one alone, was sure to converse all night. No words went holy, blasphemy touched and dabbled, but by and by and through his own, the world revolved in him. His sunken ship of merry thoughts was long below the sheath, ‘neathe his earthen fingers kept a diary of sonnet. He singed and sang evaporations so words would never reach, an ear, a hand to grasp the sound and his was all he wanted.