Here comes 
He who fears none but the whispers in his ear drum 
Welcomed by weirdos but still subtly scares them 
Just the nature of human to untrust someone by the complexion of their eye movements 

Don’t judge 
They’re just intrusive thoughts – runoff from the high torquing cortex he sports –
That begun as early as birth 
supposed doctors who had pulled the starving child from his mother’s lacerated corpse 

And so developed something like a miracle, forever anomalous and scarred but unceasing to fulfil 
Dreams fuelled by childhood hypoxia, so when he achieved a breath of oxygen his mind would completely unfurl  

Now as an adult, with his place hand-carved out of the jagged crust of the world 
All most can do is look, wonder what goes on behind the visages he manufactures 

You might see him at the back of the function standing very cursed 
With something to smoke on & a glass of fluid you can’t discern 
Or on late November evenings when it gets really dark 
Stalking through graveyards, chiselling new inscriptions on faces of the stones

And if you’re unlucky enough to be one 
In whom he shows some fascination, just be calm 
Look deep through his eyes to that undulating mind
and let it be known that you don’t want harm 

So he might leave you alone 
So you can return 
to stealing glances of his contoured lips and cheekbones
As they are so accentuated under light of the moon 
When he is back to gazing off to a distance