No name as of yet!

He swims through the crowd,
sorrowfully solitary in his infected mind of isolated despair
Less than a face in a crowd,
a generic, yet unacceptable blur
blemishing the perfection of the masses, the majority vote, the social norm.

Babbling aimlessly wandering down his lonely path,
they turn away.
His mind is weak and diseased with incompetent insanity,
and will not be salvaged by the disgusted bodies turned away from his own.
No smiles meet his own,
but glances of contempt and cruel laughter are thrown upon his mad grin,
like a blow from a sane fist to mad face.
Each blow, each snigger and cruel look seeps
through his eyes, ears, through his murmuring mouth,
and sink into every dark corner of his broken body and lay dormant,
never to be moved
until the old man falls.

The contempt and disdain of a disgruntled society burn through his soft skull and bubble at his brain,
slimily seeping over memories of a time he once knew,
a time when his mind flourished
and proved itself a perfect weapon in the perfect society.
But that time was long ago,
and as the claws of madness scratch and pick at what little sanity remains,
he stares dreamily to an imaginary world,
a forgiving and nurturing land where recovery is imminent and he is embraced.
But even in the madness of his diseased self,
he knows that this is merely a plaything of his thoughts,
an unimaginable, unrealistic existence.

A single, gentle tear falls silently down his sullen cheek,
and as the last comprehensive thought slips from his mind,
like a soft scent subtley escaping through the vastness of the air,
he is alone.
The empty shell of a body continues silently down it’s lonely path,
never again to feel a sweet smile upon his weathered face,
or a warm hand upon his rough and unfeeling fingers.
He walks a living death through the empty world which no longer has a place for him,
and there he will walk,
until he falls.