A savage pseudo samurai walks, wildly wielding weapons and living out a lie. This selfish swordsman lurking naked in the night, looking for the hope he lost. The hope he tossed.
The only thing he is sure of is that this is the cold Killing Floor and he’s been here before. Thoughts of ‘them’ fight to fill his head. He will get what he wants without calculating cost. Will he win this battle for survival?
Standing closer to the Grim Reaper, far from his brother’s keeper, this man cannot live this way one more day. An unexpected visit from an old man is a future reflection and a glimpse into the abyss. He stands on the edge afraid to move. Is this is it?
He is another man caught in the perfect storm. Knees buckling and evil chuckling as tears stream down his face. Facing a decision, to continue down the dark alleyways or take that road less traveled?
He is willing to pay the price of his past, just to get passed. Instead of one day, this day would be day one. Done. Ready to rebuild the bridge?
Reborn with a new perspective, he rides this rapture on a unicorn with a crown of thorns. Learning to chew baby food, he passes out candles to help others find their way out of that dark, dismal depression. The addict takes his seat across from the Empty Chair and stares. His hand is there. Take it.
The pen has become mightier than his sword ever was.
Recover or die.