Death came in fragments. Deception, dissapointment, betrayal, infidelity, and ungratefulness assaulted every aspect of his entity. Sad eyes grace the face of chaos. The entire landscape of the expectations and assumptions became a mere thing of the past. There was, there is no vision left. What is left is an empty shell... a naked soul bloodied and beaten on the shore. Nothing could be salvaged... not even enough strength to make the steel clap. He was only able to point a barrell to his face, hoping an act of God would somehow pull the trigger.
He dipped his hat real low, so as to not allow anyone to peer into his bloodshot eyes. He wrapped himself in black... simple blacks, the kind that drew little, if any, attention to his slow pace out of youthfulness. A majestic emblem of the symbol for faith screamed hypocrisy, and so he hid it. Few and far between, he was approached by curious peoples, but there was nothing but cold air coming from his lips, hollow eyes incapable of any meaningful communication.
You stare and criticize freely, unaware of just how much weight he carries on his shoulders. This man has given you that cold, empty look time and time again, and yet, you refuse to understand that second chances are a foreign language that is not known to him, nor does he wish to learn it. Life's reality is that second chances are never in one's control. It is a wager on the kindness of strangers. And this man has lived his life with very few kind strangers, and so, to make such wager would be silly. There is one chance for every person to earn the pure trust and respect that lasts longer than life, and he has embedded that philosophy in his brain. He lives by this, and so he makes his best effort to not hurt or cross anyone. Your self-righteousness is futile once it has tainted the thin layers of sincerity. And so, no amount of virtue and kindness is enought to wither this man out of his decay. His words are a frigid truth that you can either accept or keep from, but you can't deny them. No amount of temptation will cure this perspective now, not until death removes it's tight grip on this man's throat.