The nimbleness enters the body.
People seem a constant mechanism of thoughts.
The glass is purple,
the lyrics get twisted in a matter of unforgiven scar.
See the time as a pit
and the occurance as a break.
I find myself digging a hole…
The smoke,
the illusion.
There…there we are everything but an overheard philosophy.
The substance enters the mind.
I drive straight through the highway.
Losing something is a sign of an addiction of living.
Lose the reasoning,
lose the flat man’s obsession,
lose the search
and lose the ways to be found.

……………………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Arin Yulistia