Wise Man
In a state of fracture, he stands, his brokenness evident.
Solitude becomes a drug for certain souls, A variety that self-destructs its own purity, Substituting it with a perilous exhilaration.
He ingests it, akin to a dark, internal abyss. As time advances, oblivious to his inner scars, He bleeds, absorbing pain into the unknown, Navigating through existence in a mindless drift.