Heavy hangs the head.

Wind chimed the wind chimes hung from the chimney of the church. The poor man looked at it with hate and sorrow, his brain generating enough neural responses to discover the true meaning of everything that surrounded him, yet somehow it just managed to realize he needed a place to rest and fight away the cold.

Wind rustled the rusted leaves resting neatly on the roads that led to a mansion in a renegade town, not very far from the familiar roads of the man’s existance.

He moved into the doors that were cracked open by a thumping of his knuckles on the correct and appropriate spots. The door that guarded his own personal ruin from the rest of the world.

He entered the manor in a manner not very proper for a man or gent in his position. He walked upright, his chest out and head held high, he looked around the tattered upholstery that regulated his ambitious attempts to develop an attachment with this household he was guarding.

He moved into a room he called his own, a whole room for a homeless man seemed strange to him but the winds were cold and his hunger grew hungrier with every passing second, he wasn’t complaining about irony to the lord right now.

Jesus abandoned him a long time ago, his sins were his own to battle, his cross was the third red light on franklin avenue where it met with albany road, his soul wasnt meant for heaven, hell probably wouldn’t have accepted him either, thats a rich man’s legacy, not a poor man’s territory. 

He looked at his wrist three scabs and a scar that ran vertically up his arm, tales from another time, battles from another generation, his own personal fantasy space opera conducted by a drug induced hallucination convincing him of extra terrestrial companionship.

He lay down on the cold hard floor, the bed towered his field of vision and he considered climbing upon it. This house belonged to him now, it’s his war to win it’s all yours they said as they walked away into the abysmal abyss of nothingness and perpetual spiritual bliss. 

He scaled the fences that surrounded him and climbed the bed to rest easy on the comfortable thorns that pierced his existance . He screams a hollow screach as his mind refuses to face this block that his body refuses to breach.

The man looks upon the grandeur of the Chambers he lies in the reflective nature of the flow of time. The new king looks upon the man that lies on the floor, lying to himself and everything around him his naked shoulders responsible for a whole world full of people.

Heavy hangs the head that holds the crown. 

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