theo

he was born theodore calvin whitmark jr.
premature by 3 weeks, he lived in an incubator for 2 weeks.
his body needed shots to keep his immune system stable during the first half decade of his life.
now his mind needed shots to ease the pain of 27 years of hurt.
the deep wrinkles and bags under his eyes told a 702 page novel of lonliness.
when he spoke, his mouth opened paper thin.
his eyes bared themselves enough to quench his skepticism about the world outside,
but shuttered themselves enough to protect from the permeation of the same world.
love had not touched his bones in 27 years,
and they had become brittle from the heroine and self loathing.
theo's addiction to substance was only outdone by his addiction to himself.
his hair embraced his face exactly where his delicate cheek bones met his ears,
but years of anxiety had reduced his full head of hair into fine whisps of black thread.
his veins had grown fragile just like his self-esteem.
he had built up a wall years ago, just like the one around china.
he kept the world away like the analogous mongolians.
theo lived in the streets and understood shame,
he could see it in the eyes of his neighbors as they passed him in their comfortable suits on the way to their comfortable jobs.
theo was quite content to die that morning in new york,
and he was quite content to know that this would be his extended epithet.