the thoughts in my head at midnight...

He stands there. About to go to bed, but he still can't help but stare into that mirror.

He puts the toothbrush down and stares at his counterpart before him. Reality and perception is quite a concept. He shrugs that philosophical thought off. He's been through it a million times. It leads you nowhere, like most philosophy. Still, what a notion it is.

He stares once again into the mirror. The penguin patterened pajama pants. His waist. The hair on his chest. Upward he moves, right to his eyes. The right one is slightly lower than the left, but his crooked glasses only make it look worse.

He blows it off, he can't do much about it anyway.

He moves to much more shallow thoughts as he flexes and sizes himself up. Narcisstic, maybe, but everyone else is asleep. He can afford to be vain at one o'clock in the morning.

He wonders if he'll ever be good enough, if he can hack it. Could he defend himself if necessary? Or would he just get the crap kicked out of him? That's one question he may never know the answer to.

He yawns. It's time for bed and he knows it. He'll right his observations down in the morning.

He will, I will. Same difference... (Of course, it seemed so much more poetic, dramatic last night...)