The psychopath

On the ground there lies the psychopath, breathing, slowly. Mental aphids eat away at the philosophical endeavor of his roosting mental state. If only the carnivorous insects could find that place to eat his wounding vice. But would they, having consumed their supply of edible substance, turn to the food of their former prey. Intellectuality strips to the platonic resonance of a deteriorating whitewash conductor vault. Lack of stimulation psychologically challenges the rigorously trained soldier. And yet he is strong. In a mental arena the fighting is obsolete compared to the discussion of rhetorical fish mongering, but his mentality is also strong. The fight continues for eternity then abruptly stops after the utter obliteration of all time and existence, a moment too late. The soldier is vanquished. Falling, falling, to the depths of insanity.