Tall Man Who Lives in an Attic

(Ideally this would be be drawn but I can't draw so I have to use photos until someone can draw this man into a cartoon of some sort)

A tall man lives in an attic. He maintains a natural state of cynical, somber solidarity. Surviving in a neutral milk honey existence. Contemplation consumes the soul with a contention of unexplained desires. Nothing makes sense, which means everything makes sense, inevitably.

A fallen knife strikes a chord of agitation. Is it the knife, or is it the fall? The knife takes the blame even though the fall is in the same.

Doing dishes and having dignity are one in the same. The explains, blames, complains and holding on to disdains about how we got to from where we came, ultimately concludes it's really all the same. It's just a game. A prowess of the vain and sane. Who gains? Who maintains? Who goes insane? We know nothing which means we know everything, inevitably.

Pain, apologies, and once believed propaganda become a solstice of drain with little to no relief of rain. How did we get to from where we came?

Pain and rain are one in the same. The configuration does not exceed the acceptance of the evolving being in the mirror.

What happens when the water clears and the tears for fears disappear?

None can be certain, which means everyone can certainly be, inevitably.