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Russian Grapefruit

Drawing with withdrawal
Seeing through the darkest glass
Speaking with the quietest voice
Walking with toes curling backwards
Meek toes that delude themselves into feeling like they could convince the rest of the foot to turn back
Stupid, hopeful, powerless toes
Chubby big toe barely curled up
The Cartman of the group
The realist, resigned and only too happy to lay back with it's ingrown nail
Ingrown nails in itself are stubborn little things
Realism can be so delusional in such a case
But this poem, this sorry excuse for one, it's not about my stubby toes
It's about sheep
The counting of sheep
When there seems to come no sleep
And the hill looks steep
And the mind takes a big leap
A leap of faith, so simple to take, starts to seep
This is so shallow, definitely not deep
And so I shall stow all my heavy thoughts in a heap
And get on that sheep stalking sleep jeep
And surprise hello the sweetest one, I cheekily peep
As I sowed I shall now reap
In real life I can only weep
But in my dreams your company I get to keep
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