write about his ex-wife, who passed away from a chronic illness, as his mother did, and for whom he carries a quiet, silent mourning; gothic style; blood-stained glasses; creative writing; sending letters and emails; deep, apathetic black eyes; skin brushed by the alabamian solstice; a bare abdomen; demonolatrous caricatures tattooed onto the skin; blond hair inherited from his father, styled into a messy mullet and dyed blue; a striking, hypnotic, melodic, almost liturgical voice; jackets carrying the scent of homemade tobacco and djarum black cigarettes; thick leather belts, handmade from the cartilage of the animals he hunts; a rustic accent; sharpened nails; lebanese woody perfumes; scotch whisky; band-aids wrapped around skeletal fingers; long, rough hands; silver jewelry and hoops; warm cognac; brown leather boots; levi's jeans; scars across the shoulder blades, ribs, and cheek; bruises covering the entire body; faint smell of iron and smoke; sleepless nights; whispered prayers to devil; dimly lit rooms; heavy curtains drawn shut; quiet hum of decay.