MY WALL

I have built a wall to protect me.  To protect me from myself.  I have created an unprintable force so that I would no longer see myself for who I am.  To protect my delicate f*#@@$ wrists from the blade that could end my pain.

Then I ask myself.  Why?  Why do I do this?  This is a question that will never be answered.  It will never be answered because it's too late.  The wall is complete.

I've created an act of genocide on my own creativity.  I've experienced the wrath of God like a hammer in an angry wife's hands.  Like the talc of fat used to create soap.  I am a by product of a by product of a by product.

I sometimes want to crush my  hand.  Shatter the bones.  Then go hunt elk around the ruins of the Rockefeller center.  Make a youth center out of the Chrysler building.  Plant crops in some abandoned super highway.

But as I said it's too late.  Society has thrown me into an abyss one of greed and a need to fit in.  Confusion sets in.  Hence.  My wall.

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