MANCHILD

Look At me! I stomp then Prance with clinched and greedy hands. You owe me. Everyone owes me. I am the Manchild. This is my boat. A Manchild floats in his boat. Pompously booming echoes define his logic. Each echo finds a wall in the wooden ship to explode in. The sounds manipulate and bend the wood in attempts to become thunderous. It’s just the attention the noise gives itself that feed the echoes.
With everything to hide in them these sounds are the yellowish brown molded to dark sturdy beams of the ships frame. Selfish reasons are why I smile. Row a way to blind and simple town where a Manchild’s voice still pounds now even more echoed than before the ship’s resonance punishment vibrates. The Manchild will marvel at his own voice. A Manchild is not just anyone. A woman on the shore clearly comprehends the severity and kneels covering her ears before a vicious sound. Further down the river of life as he realizes the boards can’t hold his vibrations cracks and leaks bring water to his feet. As his boat sinks the Manchild asks why me. A wise man will mumbled nothing but not shout the profound. The words swim with distance and carry blue certainty.