Shawn's Eyes

I'm a nut.

Stalked, hunted, as a missing person on the first day of absence, he studies me from across a bridge only a telephone could fully appreciate.  Imagination, youth, anxiety, call it one of its many appearances, and you shall have the same demon.  This entity, genuinely souled, bewilderdly abandoned, misplaced, helplessly tied to the wall of a labyrinth's path; watching terminal bodies breathe 20% of their lung's capacity, aware that one day, they will regret wasting that 80% of crucial oxygen.  Eyes trace his humble performance, yet our audience sit restless, fatigued, and most discontent as they gaze upon his solemn contortions.  Lingering on the desolate, eternal stage, this entity timidly bows, and begins the bleak hike to the glowing red "exit" sign.  Emotionally minuscule, as a bacterium who's host is a flea, who's transportation is a great eagle; his brain, parched of dopamine, targets the departure portal like a dehydrated blood drop sliding about an equally random path as its clear, wet weather counterparts, on a car window.