toland, with a half peeled orange in one hand, a small notebook in his other hand, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, a shirt opened to show his tiddies, and sunglasses on:
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toland, with a half peeled orange in one hand, a small notebook in his other hand, an unlit cigarette in his mouth, a shirt opened to show his tiddies, and sunglasses on:

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sharp teeth sharp teeth sharp teeth shARP TEETH SHARP TEETH SHARP TEETH SHARP SHARP SHARP TEETH SHARP TEETHSHARPTEETHSHARPTEETH
sharp
teeth
a smile hides the true design of TEETH
Have you ever felt the pinch of your skin, coil together unto itself out of the blue? No warning, no signs of the large nerve knotting up as you sit and exist. It lasts for but a second up until the pain lingers for a moment more. Like that, gone.
That is him.
The one who became what he so desired. Imbued with unholy hymns of the Deep. A sanctuary of the night. A scream shattered across the pit.
Toland.
That is your guide. Speak not of his past endeavors and hasten towards the Light.
When your heart beats fast as if you are being chased by your inner demons as you lie in the dark, that is him.
The sudden chill and shiver of a forgotten cold with no reason other than to distract you for a moment, that is him.
Familiar sights from a dreamscape you've concocted in idle silence, lingering in heavy thoughts as you question why you feel a familairty in this unknown space, that is him.
He is the known forgotten, a slumber without end. That is I.