Tell me I'm not this. The blue began to flood inside a room once painted black. Tell me I don't see this. The orb of morning peering its start right to my eyelids that can't even close. Tell me I don't hear this. Birds chirping for sunrise, playing lightly as my lullaby. Tell me I'm dreaming. My leg still twitches, seven in the morning, because I'm afraid I'll lose myself before dawn. Shedding emotion in fast waves of flight, tell me I didn't run through time, making stars out of daylight. Orange in the sky, and not from shy headlights in insomniac cars. Yellow, making its fellow opening for my uncomforted sleep, not a nightlight like before, no. Tell me I'm not this.