Smoke and Mirrors.

I started my day off completely wrong trying to figure out what the fuck is hurting so much in my abs. Other than that, pretty messed up dreams. which is never fun.

He is reaching and reaching and never grasping what he wants.
He is holding his dreams in his hands, watching them slip through his fingers like sand.
He is watching them cut his hands to pieces like broken glass.
He isn't sure whether to hold on tighter or let go.
He wanders and wonders.
He thinks about Trust.
He thinks about Circles.
He dreams about the past, present, and future.
He sits and smokes and thinks about the "Big Picture"
He thinks about the ends of the many paths he sees ahead.
He sits alone, in silence, thinking of words and deeds.
He always wants to be someone's Hero.
But more often than not he remains the Monster.
He is tired. He is searching. He is closing his eyes. He is standing in the snow searching for the Moon.