Flaw Salad

You could be the man with money or the man with fancy clothes. You could have acclaim or conquests or bulging, bursting biceps. You could wear glasses or get tattoos or sport a wacky style. You could sing. You could play. You could make a thing from scratch.

Or you could be the man with stories, the one who believes in ghosts. You could take me faraway places and make me shiver without a touch. You could whisper fantastical magic and confess fear in low tones. You could creep and crawl and infect my viscera with dread. You could know, as certain as science, this world is more than what we see.