Follow Mark’s Quest For Meaning

The vagabond conjures his words, his ideals, as nightfall sweeps daylight from the heavens. Cold settles idly where shadows reign: beneath the desk upon which he toils, in the corners of his cozy room, and in his wanton heart, tenebrous and barely beating, like a carcass or a cadavier. That which he seeks from this world, no friend or family may bestow upon him; only time and blood and tears.