This man of the infinite would seek despair as if life didn’t dish out enough. Never feeling quite as alive when the burden upon his shoulders was lifted, he made the usual mistake. For him never a mistake at all, seeking the infinite jest in life. Hoping to feel the emptiness of being alone, but never capturing it. Pulling and grasping to feel loneliness, alas, feeling the shadow cast in an empty room. A shadow other than his own or the mere fact his own shadow was enough to hinder such a search.
Amongst a gathering he never felt distant from the whole, this was not saddening. It irritated him like nothing else. Pondering life in his empty bourbon the bartender fills him up once again. Making pleasant conversation in the moment, then irate once again for this hunger felt for company.
This wish to just be, what a maddening goal. Perhaps the finite would suit much better, though, the grass is always greener. Experience is key. In lieu of such times, he orders a vodka. To feel the sting, the burn, to experience the strain of drink. Taking slow generous swigs, allowing the burn to slide down. Trying to keep a straight face, never showing outwardly the inner turmoil of the soul. Black soot hiding the burning log.
to seek, more
With much consideration, for he had little to do with himself but ponder the VOID, he self-diagnosed with being quite clever. Self-deception kept him as devil’s advocate; it’s what kept such a man going. All those days knowing, wanting much but always walking the line of absurdity and impossibility. A limbo of sorts
The divine eye has passed its gaze as it seems, he has cast his gaze just as well. Confidence is of no lacking matter, striving head first into the flames of opposition. Arrogance following behind, nipping wildly. In absence of reality a body was seated beside. Jarring his absence back enough to greet the neighboring soul.