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It’s exhilarating for Timo to be experimenting like this.
Rather than shielding all of himself like he’s always done, he's decisively changing his tune and letting everything air out.
Even if it’s things that are more subtle, Timo’s been purposefully letting the hints drop.
An offhand comment here or there, giving away his dear possessions, and he felt lighter once he'd made his choice.
Timo knows he isn’t like some of the people around him. While their signs jump out more, Timo’s actions make him seem like he's merry at long last.
The other people are getting more help than he is. Because they're being forthright about everything, this makes everyone else more worthy of aid than Timo.
Part of him is troubled with this.
At the same time, though, he finds himself wishing that they'd just make up their minds already. That they'd come to the same conclusion as him.
If that were to happen…
Timo’s sweet decision would be more apparent. People would finally understand him when they got to know him.
Even then, he knows he doesn't jump out as somebody who's interesting.
Timo would give his brains, his thoughts, and whatever else was his if they would give him the time.
…
Should there be anything joyful or lively happening, Timo knows he isn't involved.
It's clear to him by now that something here needs to change.
Yesterday, when he'd expressed his bliss, he'd been overlooked.
So, he's reflecting alone.
His interpretations are brewing inside of him and engraining into his mind.
Timo can't quite understand what this all means. Everything feels confusing to him.
He could use some help making sense of it all.
Most of Timo lay beneath his surface.
His tepid demeanour has been chilled by the lethargy of those around him.
If it's mourning that people seek, they could take from Timo what they need.
He'd bleed to see to this; until they perceive him again.
Going through the motions of life is something Timo can cherish.
There are times where it feels flashy to him.
But Timo is dead tired of masking.
And he knows that this will make people see him as manic.
So, he chooses to up the ante.
It's a shame that he doesn't know how to do it properly.
His behaviour grows more dicey. (Ow!)
This is going to cost him.
Oh, what has he done?
Ahead of Timo lays a green pasture.
Diamonds glimmer in his vision.
The bar needs to be lowered. He can feel as the air is thinning.
The twinges are savoury, and he feels as his fleshy body forsakes him.
Timo’s sweet decision could be more apparent. People could finally understand him when they got to understand him.
Even then, he knows he doesn't jump out as somebody who's interesting.
Timo would give his brains, his thoughts, and whatever else was his if they would give him the time.
…
With himself, Timo must gamble in a round of cards.
There's nobody with which he can convey his spirit’s interior to.
Truthfully, he needs not anything distinct to be uttered to him.
He wishes anyone would at least show enough concern to check on him.
His crowd examines how he grows erratic.
Look, see, isn't Timo alluring?
But no, they don't even take notice.
Is he not gutsy enough?
As vermin are drawn to refuse, are brutes attracted to sorrow?
In this instance, this is another word for Timo.
So, he'll double down on his instability.
Has he really just been asked if it's just red paint? No, he's not feigning.
How Timo yearns for sturdy arms again.
If he were to squander an eye or his full head, maybe they would grasp his implications.
The autumn foliage has failed to break Timo’s plunge.
The sticks and stones didn't bother to be troubled.
His flesh and insides deck the walls.
He's guessing this is all he can relive.
…
At last, a ceremony of which Timo is the sole focus.
Contrary with those in attendance, Timo is quite elated.
It's as if people have only now formed sympathy.
With how many tears fall, it's like they're siphoning the reservoirs behind their eyes.
Timo is finally in his fairyland.
It's through strokes of luck that nobody intervened with his streak of self-injury.
Please, everybody, you should be beaming!
If they’d valued him so, that devotion should've been spelt out before he'd become a slab of meat.
Come on, let's pick up the exuberance at his party.
Timo would love any balloons. The tears can be the confetti!
He's graduated from walking manure into the prime concern.
It's ironic to him how people only remark what they're missing.
At Timo’s feet lays a garden of flowers, and at his head rests his name engraved into a rock.
Oh, this could have been prevented if somebody asked him to talk.
Declaring himself the new monarch, Timo’s first decree
is that it's too late to start to care for him.