I'm sitting here building a concrete wall around my heart. A wall that could any time just fall apart. But here I am slapping on the layers of dirt and tar and gritty particles to cloud my mind, a fog that blinds.
I'm building my concrete wall and inside it's getting colder. I've tried building a fire, I had some warmth left in me, but I had that torch thrown back at me. A flame was rekindled but quickly stepped on and flung into some abyss. Now I'm out of fuel and I've got no lighter. And the walls are stone cold, brittle like the bones of someone so old.
I don't know if I should bash a hole in this wall and allow some light. It's a precarious move. A tiny instability could bring down my fort. I am to let no one in.
There can be no fracture in my wall. No signs of weakness creeping out.
If anything goes wrong outside, I am to remain tall.
