He had a bad habit of catching lightning
He strode along the streets collecting the lightning that fell from the eyes of people he passed.
into his head he would invite it, till all that was in it was the cracking of mighty stone..
inside his head a menagerie of marble wonders cracked and pleaded; forced into spaces that warranted only crumbling submission
Now the sound of ruin seduced him daily,
filling his head until the only thing that kept him among this earth were the two feet that he planted upon it. But even on the noisiest of days his own two feet couldn’t completely ground him.
He thought himself to be something of a paradox; but then again, those with the quietest of demeanors often carried the most turbulent of minds.
Paralyzed by the lightning inside him, his worst days were spent lying down.
On some days, as he walked, you could very well see his belief that the skies among him were falling.
Each step he planned so tragedy would not have befallen him.
The words he spoke fell out of his mouth in murmurs, as if they were muffled by the droning of thunder. Because all his eyes could witness was the crumbling of the lightning skies around him.
But the trust he had in his own feet to save him from blunder, is what kept him striding on the loudest days of thunder.
When he felt best he considered his habit to catch lightning to be a beautiful gift. On those days his presence would have lead you to believe you could never understand lightning quite like him