Sleepless, dreamless.
Strange attraction between myself and my very own downfall.
The moon with black curtains drenched.
My morning shared with baby monsters in my cereal.
How familiar those dark circles underneath my eyes are, how often those falling strands of my hair are.
a tight rope walker who trips, and a game of tug-of-war thrown into the mud.
We're both drenched.
The old Crooners have made me sad.
What a humble thing love is said to be.
Although I have never encountered such a selfless experience.

What then.
What.
someone with no legs cannot run a race.