Imagine a gaunt, scrawny, angular man naked on the side of rainy road; staring in utter bewilderment at the flood light of a parked car.

His eye brows curl up, his body shivers and his hands shake profusely.

A tall man gets out of the car with a long blanket and wraps it around the Angular Man. The latter clutches said blanket, grasping it with his bony hands and uncut nails, and, if you looked closely, you could see several layers of skin peeled off of his fingers from dampness of the weather.

The Angular Man had a bizarre face, a long nose that was both thin and wide in all the wrong places, orange-green eyes, dark brown hair with thin raspy lips.

The Tall Man helped The Angular Man into the car and calmed him down by telling him stories of the street's creation, ofcourse, he made them up then, there on the spot but that didm't seem to matter to the Angular Man whose face shifted from the bizarre one as mentioned before to one that looked much like the Tall Man sitting opposite him on the side of the rainy road, looking in utter conviction in the front seat of a parked car.

The Patient, with one name after another branded, like a hot iron on the roof of his mind, roams around a lonely populus; continuously giving but being capable of receiving that which he gives.

It smites like a snout in the fog.

Difficult to make out but impossible to deny its existence. The snout becomes clearer as the mist fades away, the grey fur glows, and then, with one single ****** of motion the whole wolf appears itself with the dynamism of a lightning bolt striking violently. It refuses to remove itself from the Patient's view as it stands there stubbornly.

The Patient gestures, nudges, speaks and screams yet the Wolf's head can never, will never and, finally, should never, ever truly turn.

And so from the first chemical secreted in his brain till the last the Patient lives.

Scared.
Confused.
Unloved.
Unknown.

Alone.

The kiss and the arrow; the Patient pondered.
Lying in litres of his own blood, wondering which, if either, had dug deeper in his heart.

Hastily, suddenly,
plunging oars down in the pale sea.

Glistening, expecting,
his eyes shined anticipating.

Bleached pale clear, shining near,
jewellery sitting heavenly here.

Can’t go back, t’face attack,
waves outnumber the stars in the track.

Bigger ships, faster ships,
displaying greater workmanship

Begin to shrink, as anchors sink,
they look like grains of sand in a blink.

Storms go in, he thinks of his kin,
and anchors the boat, grazing his shin.

Reef, clovehitch, a bowline itch,
clutches his thumb like a tall stitch.

Abruptly, in agony,
he cuts his thumb so aimlessly.

Blood spills out, near the trout,
he jumps in the sea without any doubt.

Deeper down, fetching his crown,
he grabbed the pearl and screamed like a hound.

His heart did ache, in the great lake,
when he found out the orb was a fake.