The kid's been caught up in a current;
he's currently thought of as a servent.
His life's purpose: to bear down the weight of a ***** little brown voodoo doll pendant that's drapped around his neck like
a gold chain stark with disorderly fashion.
Here's the catch: only he controls it.
Grasp at the lantern moon through
the thick of darkness.

The Slumbering One. The Never Enough.
A butcher of thumbs; he's dumb, numb to the tumbling hands of a clock gone wrong,
clawing its way through the wind of them empty halls.

I imagine all sorts of things happen
when he closes his eyes at night and vacates the premises, like dragons and magic in a land inhabited by sages and witches which of course favour the taste of peasants and gizzards mixed
with the innocence of children.
Where he's the knight sent to slay
all that is wicked. But who's to say?
He's to busy caught up with the current.