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A thousand cuts of mirror-dreams demolished by the hammer of today lay on the cold floor of the jail cell of conformity and stagnancy. Such is the destiny of dreamers. We are the confetti that line the road to that jade illusion called reality.

Reality shall engulf the world of the imaginations. People shall continue to poison the minds of others, desiring them to be like theirs, detesting the selfsame traits they see in themselves. This shall continue as long as insecurity exists, as long as people cannot trust their own thoughts and words and deeds. in this future where great men seek not to educate others, who may have the potential to be great, but seek only to immerse themselves in their wealth.

I am no hero, I am not great. I am just a voice crying out in this world full of static. Noise which engulfs the daily thread of life, drowning what is important, extolling the mundane.

I am but a voice, a cowardly one at that, waiting for someone to perform the deeds I cannot do, but only dream about, for I am one of the mirror-cuts. I am broken. I am insecure.

I told myself I wouldn't do this anymore.