I’ve been thinking about it for a very long time now. And again there’s just so many things why I just can’t. Like the mountain of mess that I have on my basement, the thousands of pictures I personally ought to publish, and a whole other stuff that I should have done back when I was on my twenties. Time went by so fast – feels like I could have done more if only I was’nt too scared all the time.
drew smoke from a white stick
remember your folks whose flames are drowning
and for the ones who has thought too much
forgetting their temples is as just as fragile
as the canvases they abuse
all this will make sense in the end
sitting on the couch looking back
old man is thinking of what if
a mixed feeling of regret
if he only showed up on that meeting place
of this long lost girl
what could have happen he say
will just don’t know and will spend the rest of his life wondering
wasted so much time staring at smoke
I’ve drawn smoke overly curling them just as they were
these details don’t mean when we can’t breathe
it doesn’t matter now that much is it?