He fell in with a thud, everyone turned to see. He was his ideal self to himself, to everyone else, an attraction or delusion. His wings spread longer than the Everest, he had a fixated gaze, he had a heart of gold, and in there sat a priceless gem.
He was ranked very close to the clouds, he was self-inclined, proud and inadvertent of the real world, he kept soaring through, it kept working out for him.
       Until he took a path...
One that seemed a straight path at first, a path that was bright and clear, filled with joy and fear, a path of green trees and succulent fruits, a path of big dreams and promising roots. A path with butterflies, singing birds and beautiful flowers, a path with a beautiful horizon, one that captured
the beauty of the world.
He walked that path, slowly letting himself go, gradually dropping his rank, gradually submersing himself in this newfound path. 
       He became selfish...
He unlocked his heart of gold, to store this path for himself, but his priceless gem sat there. He remorselessly tore at the gem which had become a part of him, it bled, he bled, he didn't care. He dropped it without looking back at it, he lost that priceless gem. But then, there was room for this path, his path. He could store it and have it for himself. He ignored the rough bark of the trees, he ignored the bees in the trees, he didn't mind the thorns on the flowers, which had pricked him on his knees. He ignored the rotten fruits on the trees, even when they stank, he let his breath cease.
       Until it all became clear...
The green trees harboured green snakes, the colorful flowers had large thorns. The bright day was a scorching one, so hot, he felt himself cook. The butterflies became hornets, they mated with the bees and bore 'bornets', the sings of the birds were pure torments, they gnawed at his brain like small rodents.
       He kept walking...
He felt he could fix this path, he thought he could rebuild it, and walk it all over again. The bees stung, he overlooked, the snakes struck, he endured. The weather scorched, he overlooked, the birds sang, he endured. The fruits poisoned, he overlooked, the flowers pricked, he endured..
       Until he couldn't...
He felt the need to turn back. He knew he had to go home, he knew he had to move fast, but how could he, alone? He sat there in the sand, listening to his bottom sizzle, no matter how much he knew he should leave, he couldn't, part of him didn't want to. It was as though he'd had no life before his discovery of this path. 
       So, he became a monster...
The path got worse. Snakes turned to cobras, birds to pterodactyls. Thorns turned to swords, and the sun breathed fire on him. He had to survive. So he began biting head off of cobras. When the sun scorched, he made a proof out of  pterodactyl wings. He ignored the poisonous fruits and ate snakes instead, he overlooked the facade of the horizon, he kept walking..
       The path grew weary of him...
The grounds shook in order to stumble him, the sun came very close to him and tailed him about. The swords turned back into thorns and hid themselves in the sand, the overlooked horizon became a cliff...
       The path tripped him...
He fell over the cliff, but with his left hand, held onto a reed. Somehow, he still wanted to walk this path, somehow, he still felt connected to this path, somehow, he didn't want to let go, he didn't know how to.
The longer he hangs, the harder his fall.
       Will he rise when he falls..?
              Remains to be seen, for he hangs on...