Growing success equals growing resistance. Growing threats, growing envy. None seem to accept who he is, as they pluck at his skin for ruin, but sustain themselves by his flesh.
While he sleeps, the parasites feast, and complain of the bitter taste, inviting them to partake in gluttonous stupor.
He is but man, holding, continuing, sparing the boils of contemptuousness, living despite. Only of mind he subsist, as the very air that fouls him fills him, and ignorant, the want of his kind be salvation.
Swarms proliferate by our whisperings, fear, but shrivel at our bounding, the truth of our kind, theirs.