Vacuums inside two blue-green marbles;
bolts of crimson shoot through swollen eyes like forked lightning.
No sleep again last night; not hard to tell
for crusts of sand have barely formed, still liquid in nature.
He wipes them away in a single sweep and suddenly he can see me.
He scowls at me and looks like he's about to die.
Splashes of water on the face only add to the idea that he is
a hung over and burned out husk of a man.
He wonders if he should comb the mess on his head
but decides against it. There's no point because it's only cosmetic.
He lies to himself that he'd shave it off if he didn't burn
like an albino on the surface of Sol.
A cough, then a blink, then a sniff, then a groan.
The battle against insomnia commences once more.
I remove my hands from the sides of the sink and shift
my weight back onto my feet.
I shuffle out the door, consoled in the fact that
at least I didn't look as bad as that guy.
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