Means to an end

With old patterns faltering in the wake of time, serving him less and less; desperation creeps, then slowly sets in. Searching for something real to cling to; in a world of illusion and cheap parlor tricks; of which he created and has always dwelled. Better to be an imaginary somebody, than a real no body;

Always the why

Why is it So much easier To hate him Than try to Understand Why he did it © jillterry