The walls that I've made,
From the buttom to the top,
make it sturdy and tough,
so that no one can hurt me,
so that It'll protect me,
from the people that is not,
as nice as I thought,

But got only destroyed
to the brown eye'd boy
who I thought loved me whole
but only hurt me just like them all.

Lumbago awakened me in tears
of pain and fear of intensifying
acuteness, worsening condition
compelling mind to impose

therapeutical distraction,
persuading fantasy to create
spontaneous cuttings of pictures,
papers, magazines, old national

geographic dreams scopelessly selected
waiting on ideas to sparkle a theme
from coffee, cigarettes and analgesics.
Human evolution standing behind bars,

as I ponder on the meaning not
of the artwork but its making,
for I have no walls to hang
the sticky assemblage and haven’t

had them for a while. Used to clothes
in suitcases, books on other people’s
shelves, memories in shoeboxes,
the essence of my being in a body.

Oh walls! So longed for by humanity
urging to *****, building distance one
brick at the time, compartmentalising
individuals looking for pseudo shelter

under roofs, spurious safety behind
ramparts, four to enclose shame
for their actions, inconsiderate
behaviour of the willingly blind.

Yet what if there weren’t any walls?

People unable to neglect the sorrow
of their neighbours for they’re standing,
just by them, no drawing the curtains
no locking the doors, no closing

the gates. People inhabiting open
landscapes, bonded by necessity to engage
in living together, for unity is strength.
No wonder why our kind is so fragile today.

This heart can only be rejected and burned so many times and still allow itself to open - this heart is not as strong as some might think. Hearts don't handle stress or pain, they just build walls so that people have a difficult time getting in.

This heart might believe that whoever is patient enough to find a way around the walls will treat it well upon arrival since it took so much time and strategy, but the heart has mistaken perseverance for stubbornness.

This heart might suppose that whoever is brave enough to scale the walls will be willing to serve as a protector since it is not courageous enough to face the darkness itself, but the heart has mistaken valor for recklessness.

This heart might hope that whoever is strong enough to break through the walls will be able to fight the tumultuous war raging within so that it may obtain some rest, but the heart has mistaken fortitude for belligerence.

This heart must build walls in part, of course, to keep careless strangers from strolling in and wreaking havoc, but most importantly to protect others from itself by trapping the whispers and shadows inside the walls. While it will always dream of The One who will conquer the walls and stay to provide light and warmth, it has decided that the world would hurt less if people stopped trying to love the broken hearts such as itself.

I walk down these empty halls
gazing at the worn out walls
at the memories that I see
wondering what I was meant to be

Walking down this empty street
Averting my gaze from every stranger I meet
I cross the paths of dark and light
but soon the day is blotted out by night

The lights of stars illuminate my path
I kept walking, less I face their wrath
when memories are brought to the surface of my mind
I  wish desperately, pleading for them to rewind

back to a day where I could wander these roads
down worn-out paths that no one knows
but alas time has gone so fast
nothing gold, I guess, can last