Broken peace

I only sleep when the clock ticks louder –

We’re paddling until we reach a point where our own muscles start failing us merely because we’ve become too depend on ourselves instead of putting our own oath on individuals who aren’t even our blood type. Retrenching our own feelings whilst we practice our speeches at the break of dawn, we’re stitched together with a fumbling feeling of wanting nothing but success and peace, irregardless of it being a broken piece of success.

How are we supposed to reach our own peak when coffee constantly digs deeper into our past? We’re holding a pen filled with blood, these sheets of paper withhold life stories, and these four corners have brought happiness, joy and great remorse.

“Sam is that the sun...”