Lonesome he sits, surrounded by the happy.
With envy he looked at those who smile, rains of guilt fell down his cheeks, even his eyes betrayed him.
Lonesome… The word does him justice, and pity would only wrong him.
After all, he chose this, didn’t he?
Never he leaned on anything to cry, and never he will. His pride will never let him; Pride was his enemy, yet his friend, his strength, but his downfall.
If he had any hope left, it would be in the cheerful visit of death, but… Even God doesn’t want him in his hell. He is lonesome, and a lonesome life tends to break you.
He is lonesome… And a lonesome life tends to break you.
Orphical Him. 