The view from here is real enough, so much that I’m afraid to sleep.
Sights and sounds of the underground plague the sea of peace; you know the one we all pretend to swim in.
We back peddle as if no one is around, while drowning in pools of sorrow. Rest and peace no longer lay next to one
another, instead they lay on opposite ends of the house in a bitter fued. Sleep has become the aquiantence of mediocrity.
Red eyes fill the morning with some type of hope that success is resting in the next room.
No answer, only a weary soul holding back a handful of tears.