Him

A buffoon
Idle hands to pass what’s left of his time
Lonely and peculiar amidst the fall of all he knew
Breaker of truths, an oath giver with a forked tongue
Another bottle to gift oblivion
These strange days a time of need
 Forever in the twilight of his sordid mind
From clown to prince and further on he wears the crowns of lesser men
Blunder beset the broken soul
Of this and woe to endure the mantle
Forgiveness bartered long ago
Of savagery and modesty
Lamb to lion
A hypocrite of contradiction
Let him rest his weary eyes amongst the refuse of it all
Lost, in the moment, in the second
In a fraction of an aeon
Time distills darker reasons
The chaos of him all chastises his hell
Ignorance it seems does set him free