The wicked eyes pierce your marrow, and you glance around, hyperactive. You just can't shake that portentous feeling, and your enemies abound, blades athirst. You know their histories; you know their intent; you feel your own shortcomings grind your guts. And when they draw blood, it hurts so good.
Look into your life, confined fiend, and question the way your mind swings. Damned to sway, damned to quest, a wanderer without roots, sorely tolerated but always unwanted. You think of all the places you've slept on this horrid pilgrimage, trudging your way to the final resting place, that leaves this aching life behind, and transports you into harmony's pure embrace.
Your hands shoot out, dying for love, but meet projection's glowing mist, and you feel yourself sinking. Familiar, all too familiar. And though you fall, your legs continue to push your body along the gravelly road while the moon breathes its faithful breath against your bared back, and for a minute, you aren't alone, although your purpose escapes you.
What are you searching for, fallen man? Blow the smoke from your lungs. You can't elude those eyes forever.
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