Watchman

He’s just a drifter, a lost soul, a bum waiting for the end. Day to day, just waiting, drifting. Alone, forever. And identity made up of many faces, many lies, and many fears. Unable to sit still, to breath, to live. No one to slow him down, or to point him in the right direction.  He has no idea where he is from, or where he will go, He doesn’t even have an idea of where he is. It might as well be oblivion for all that matters. Some call him the lonely angel, but they don’t know him. Don’t know his fury, even though he almost never raises his voice, every inch of him is screaming on the inside, driving him mad piece by piece. All with the sounds of drums he can never get out of his head, always a series of tree taps. Repeating endlessly. Screaming, shouting, fighting to get out. But you could never tell. He keeps it all inside. The darkness is coming, the silence will fall. He lays his head and hand against the wall, hoping, that somewhere far away, in another land, or another world, she is doing the same. His Companion. His fire. He is alone, watching, waiting.

(Pocket Watch)