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I wakeup in the middle of night,
i realise i never actually slept tight.
As i see the watch strike 3,
i boundlessly set my eyes free.
As i turn the pages shakily,
my vision turning blurry.
The bitterness in my heart,
instantly turns into art.
I fill the paper with ink and tears,
letting go off my sorrows & fears.
If the strings inside our hearts
break so easily,
then ribs shouldn't be cages
but shells you see.
My shadows meet the twilight,
as my eyes meet my insecurities.
it suddenly strikes 5, in the mid June,
the sun again fails to meet the moon.
