there are walls in front of me.

a tried metaphor, but a true one.

(and in one trope, i construct another)

walls. wall after wall

after wale after wale

after wail after wail

after wall after wall

and i'm still no closer to whatever

destination i have

in mind.

i don't even know what it looks like.

i just want it to look like something other than a

wall.

one day, i went side to side.

like a courtyard, i was enclosed.

i broke those walls down too

and found more bricks

upon bricks upon

bricks upon

bricks.

one day, i went backwards.

oddly enough, the walls kept going. they kept on going. had i not bothered to turn around the very first time i opened my eyes to all this brick and mortar? when i try to go back, memory-wise, i don't recall ever doing so. it's been so long. i can't believe i never marked where the beginning was. i have no idea where i am. perhaps i've been going

right all along? i went to the right on accident, perhaps. sometimes i fall asleep among all these bricks, and when i rise again to resume hacking outlines of me through them, sometimes my orientation doesn't seem quite right. i eventually learned to mark which wall to go through next after one too many uncertain mornings, one too many times where i may have went

left by mistake, actually. and once you're mixed up like that, left isn't left anymore and
right isn't right anymore. maybe

left has been

forwards all along, maybe i'm so mixed up i've been going forwards thinking it was
backwards all this time -- no, thinking it was -- i mean -- **** --

maybe i've been so mixed up, i've been going backwards thinking it was

forwards all this time.

i get so turned around these days.

but weirdly enough,

no matter what,

despite it all,

there's only been

wall after

wall after

wall after

wall every

way i go.