Smoke Break At The End of Day.

You see,
There's a lot of ways you could see yourself,
A lot of different planes to this beautiful mess of chaos, bliss, destruction and unimportance.
What I see morning times in the mirror,
Oh so different then the end of the night. And in between it's just a fog, a haze of happenstance and perpetual change abound in silent rhythms unfolding.

Then there's that long lull that is the night, after the fray of whatever caused it. Staring silent, parched from every exchange, and the bottom of something is all I seek. I take my days down with liquid brown and think long about love and every other complication of life. After all these long nights you'd think I'd know better by now to think of something better...

Whatever compels your suffering soul, embrace it. But how many times did I wish for that thing I might already have had, but just not seen?