ima type what ever the hell comes to mind along the lines of the bull

Drip... Drip... Drip... The bull sits calmly, a puddle of tar and blood of sorts forming under each spot it touches. Never able to wander free like most, instead doomed to forever be not noticed. Its nose and mouth forever dripping, bringing with it a scent both fowl and sweet. every once in a while, a clip-clop it can make with its hooves, though never when someone's around, most think their going crazy when that see him, though no one thinks he's real, unless their suffering of schizophrenia, then they think he is a guiding beast, so they listen to the sweet lies and sorrows it whispers in their ears, and believe them. Sometimes they'll even make them true, never on purpose of course... never trust the ash bull, for he brings with him the pain of old age, and the toy you loved most. He wears a dulled-out colorful stuffed animal on his head as well. He'll take your childhood toys and tempt you with them, tease you as well, make you want to do anything for the toys again, and even convince you that death is

death is the only option, so he can no longer feel lonely, though it never works and he lays alone, bound by the loneliness this plane has given him, only wanting a friend, wondering when he shall get a friend that wants to hold him close. Waiting for the day someone shall feed him and praise him. He thinks about what a mother and father are like, for he never had any, that is why he is often seen by orphans or at orphanages. He wanders around the halls of orphanages, wondering why no one wants to play with the bull who leaves death beside everyone one who knows, that he is the ash bull...