Golden brown eyes, like hardened syrup in a pool like shape of a continuance lifetime of some burdened sadness.
Lifeless he is, like a beautiful statue, numb to the world around him.
Only the silent whispers of feeble minds he hears.
The red seductive toxin running through their veins, of which he hungers for… his ‘own personal brand of heroin’.
His thirst for normality is torturous to his eternal, tormented soul.
A secret torture for this masochistic lion,
This old face holds many secrets, some unable to tell but all not forgotten.