In an insomniacís dream it may seem, as if he were watching a theatrical scene, set against a black and white walled screen.
The curtain goes up, the lights linger and then fade away, as he watches the shadows in a dim distorted display.
Moonlight filters in, introducing a character, each rumpled lump and blanket bump a comical actor.
Tired eyes straining as the story unfolds from a muddled mind.
Standing then sitting, tossing and turning, flinging and flipping against the metal headboard behind.
A quick noise rises to a deafening quiet, an aching frame in an exhausted fight.
Dawn spills across the floor in a milky path sucking up black with a healthy wrath.
Whispering to the insomniac, were you ever asleep or did it just seem to be a dream?