Leather Apron

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: House of Ghosts
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You might not understand, so look up the title on google or something.

Submitted: March 24, 2017

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Content

Submitted: March 24, 2017

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Acceptance for all that came his way was his life. He let the chips fall where they may, he let the motion of his life flow. Stretching with exhaustion plain on his face he went with strife. Looking in the mirror and saw what he looked like, but nothing like how he believed he should. 
"My appearance does not resemble that of how I think, and what would?" 
A look into the mirror, peering into his eyes he saw himself unlike before. A void of endless questions. The thoughts shook him to his core. 
"And more, I waste time." 
He cleaned himself and upon finishing he looked once again into the mirror. 
"Whatever. I do not care no more. A pompous attitude will brighten the way."
Exiting from his home he saw the night sky. The cobblestone ground was wet, he could feel the moisture in the atmosphere. He glanced around the street alleyways and saw a lady exiting from the door. He approached quickly, without delay he struck her, carefully carving and around the corners he peered. 
Few moments was all he needed, and the rest of the way home he sauntered. 
The bag was wet, but there were no drops that fell. An expression of a smiling child, he carried the sack, a heart filled fair back to his lair. 
"I'm a ratbag that is all that I am. No good comes from my existence."
He pondered for a while.
"No, a single good. It makes me happy, a single good. Whomever she was, she was no good. No good like me, a vazey opened cave for all to enter was she."
He tossed the sack into the fireplace, the smell overwhelmed him.
"Leather apron. Pathetic like an apron made from leather. Another stroll I guess for me."


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