Sometimes the walls call to me.
They call to me.
They call to me.
I stare at them all the time. I don’t answer back.
Never.
I’m lucid enough to feel danger.
They call to me in a peculiar manner.
It usually happens when I’m reading about someone inspiring.
When I’m reading about people doing things.
Things I want to do.
Things I dream about.
Things I can’t do.
Things I won’t do.
Simply because I can’t. Incapable, not by skill.
Okay. Sometimes by skill.
But most often incapable by will.
It surely gives me a lot of chills.
But I don’t know when I will,
There is always a due bill.
Let’s stop this spill.
The walls call to me the strongest then. I feel a pull so magnetic.
A pressure starts forming behind my eyes.
Dull at first. Persistent.
Then heavy. Just heavy.
It’s too hard to rhyme heavy, it’s too levee.
The walls are still calling me.
I didn’t want to write this.
I still feel the heaviness.
I’m writing this to deny the walls.
But it’s not the walls coming closer.
It’s me leaning to them.
Honestly?
The misery will end if I just take a step back and rush my face to the wall.
Should I do it? or Should I not?
The greatest question of all, to be or not to be.
The walls call to me when I think about her.
Yes, there is a her. And they know about it.
They call me in her voice.
Not in a dangerous creepy way but as a sweet tangerine juice.
They tell me not to think about her.
They tell me not to smell her hair when she hugs or lie on your shoulder loose.
See, I told you the walls call to me.
Call to me to bang my head against them.
Once. Twice. Some more times.
Maybe then the pain behind my eyes will be canceled.
Or the impact might realign the simple inability of doing what I most want to do.
Yes, I should do, what I want to do.
Not what I am supposed to do.
Or what you want me to do, or what she wants me to do.
Let me make a todo of what to do.
But again sometimes walls call to me to do and I just do.
