When you dream, who are you?

Are your dreams filled with the bittersweet promises of the future?
Do you dream of the daily routine, those little golden nothings, those passing hours of the clock?
Are you there, in your dream?
The you that they see, the you that you show them, is it there, in the dream?

Even though the me that they see, is the true me, it is never in my dreams.

I dream...

... and from my heart the fire rushes through my whole body, like liquid tar, making me smile.
It's that open smile, honest, pure, violent.
I get hit, I fall, I get up, I hit back.
And all evil, all pain, every little one of life's paper cut's, they just leave my body through my fists, through my punches.
I hunt, I hurt, I cut, I smile.
The world is fire, and everything second tastes of blood and ash.

When I dream, I dream of who I was.
And you?

When you dream, who are you?