He is the architect of regret.

Relentlessly he beats against, 
the asphalt tapestry. 
Running, but tied,
to his sheltered venture.
Which, Frayed, and weeping, 
sends mercurial regret, 
along the fertile furrows,
beneath his intrepid eyes. 
His breaths draw nearer as, 
he lengthens his stride, 
along razorblade curbs.
The scent of fear follows, 
this trial, his mortification.
His epileptic trigger finger,
shudders in anticipation, 
of this death drive, 
towards his execution.
His thoughts transcend, 
he sketches from absolutes.
And traces the universe, 
with his empty hands. 
And then returns, 
to greet the barrel,
and the end.