Welcome to the party at the end of the world

Amber - Self Control

I saw a portrait of man with years in his eyes. He didn’t know death but had seen him in passing as often as the postal workers. Purposefully forgotten by him were the shackles of danger and fear left behind on bloodied bodies and tormented souls. 

As his body steamed reminding him of the living chore, he returned to an inward place of comfort. Too long ago had he heard the call of guardians and cohorts. Too frequently the bustling of horsepower and vibrato. 

In the warm presence of his cleanest mementos, he stared violently outward with a listless intensity. He was not ready to go yet. And when had he ever not played hard to get when the reaper was around.

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