Paint layers walls
And walls layer houses
Uncarefully placed
In our carefulness
Comforted in perfection unreachable

And what wisdom lays
In a world that wreaks destruction
On the weak foundations that we sow
And the even weaker plants that we reap
Fabricated
Cheap
An amalgamating mess
Painted onto
Thin fragile walls
Holding up
Thin fragile houses

There's secrets exchanged
Under the round peachy city light,
Across Gadjah Mada street

Between 4 privilege kids
Denpasar has it ways
To unite west-east-north-south at once

Here, to the feast
To the riddle of longing
To floating dilemmas
To confusing adulthood
We've been together before
Not just a narrative hunters

When the wind oppress
We are lost,
but we're not gonna lose

enter ego
tainting, tinting, spiking
now with its foreign substance
always to manipulate and alter What Is
already natural is only good

One did not think one could improve on God?
Did one think this lie?
Did one account for one’s own blind ignorance?

as if one created something new
within the realm of What Is

Step aside and see your own insignificance,
if you can stand to look -
stand the inferno of your own gaze.
And, if you cannot,
how could you believe you are a king?
A king of what?
The lost.

busy the days working in time
making some nightmarish world

You think you are making paradise?
You are building your own funeral pyre!
Must you go to the bitter end,
dragged and gagged and beaten?

it isn’t a giving up

What have you taken?
In order to give something up,
you must have taken it in the first place.
You have not.

only think it so,
making all suffering seem real.

What is this you have made?

don’t know
can’t see
won’t stop and tell
just keep spinnin
and rollin
and truckin along
leanin in and gettin ‘er done …

To what END?

I want to be treated gently
And yet valuably at the same time.
I want to be in your embrace
And yet sharing my hugs when you're not fine.
I'd give.... To build that value,
A value I cannot find...
For love is a construct
In a society that views construct as wine;
Bought, spent, intoxicating...
Not a feeling developed over time,
Not a feeling of mutual respect,
Not a feeling learning and value...

And I do want love,
But not in a society like mine...

Claustrophobic in this vessel
                 that I'm
contained within.  
I'm floating on a sea of waves
                                 that never settle,
but slam upon my
                     subconscious membrane.

Stimulating my pools to never close,
                              but stare into the vastness
          of unfulfilled gazes.
The charcoal stain within the white cleaner
                       than the pool it resides within.


I feel like I'm a victim of non-consensual birth,
            never wanting to be in this void less
                                                      manife­­station.

Could I delete this construct, make it static.
                  Yes, but my breath is continual,

and my morality keeps me tied to this frame.

              I'll have to live, even though i didn't
agree to this sting tying me to this existence.

So maybe, we are glow sticks,
that need to break to glow.

So maybe, we are caterpillars
who digest themselves during metamorphosis,
to transform into a butterfly.

So maybe, we are stars
that need to collapse
in order to shine brightly.

So maybe, we need to breakdown,
to pick up the pieces and cast ourselves
as someone different.

So maybe, we need to shed
to become a better version.

So maybe, all this
crumbling
breaking
collapsing
was never a destruction
but a birth to something beautiful.