Walls.
Big, white, brick walls. Thousands of them.
Blocking my thoughts from view. And that never changes. They're always there, sitting in the middle, very, very still. Containing. And the walls, impervious.
My life is the constant and insurmountable need to keep them hidden, my feelings, my thoughts. Never willing to share.
It's ludicrous, some might say.
But I do not endeavor to obliterate these walls. These walls, keeping me away from any means of expression, they make me boastful. It's my pride again.
This is who I'am.
And it pleasures me.