Those we admire
are just like us . . .
                                    Human.

Blood flow pursuing verbatim paths.
Lungs expanding to the same formula.
Muscles reacting to similar nutrients.

But I'm skeptical . . .
on whether their heart beats
as mine does.

                                      With blissful affliction.

Has their cerebrum been invaded
with the airborne infection of confusion?

Uncertain if they fear the way I do
I wonder . . .

"Have they. . .

Cried over a hiatus of failure?

Panicked through the unknown?

Wished upon futile speculation?"

So tell me.
Have you?