And as the search for eloquence deepens the ache within a much lonely soul, the creature thereby concluded mayhap with an improved affinity in language, that it may salvage the ruins that is its life.

Thus, as it murked out of its much too still life with all its unglorious grotesque loose bits and ends, one can't help but become pondrous. Through what means has such a creature elude the expulsion from its own society.

How had it escaped its inevitable fate of profound denial of its own station within their ranks. For the creature is a sight for sore eyes - its appearance in shambles, its conduct uncouth. A revolt for the senses.

Yet it thrived amidst the ostracism, the debasement of the virtuous. Despite the relentless spurning of the world, it blindly, idly, ambles along. If one squints hard enough - through distorted, blurred lens, the creature may even appear commendable.

The truth remains that had it wanted to,
it could. The creature merely languishes otherwise.

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