The Wall

The wall holds all my thoughts. It has no texture. I tried touching things. Carpet, walls, windows. Looking around and around. The room I am in. The wall is flat. To a fault. Touching it. I’ll never touch anything else again. Nothing important, that is. The wall travels from corner to corner. Corner to corner. I can travel to the corners of time. Tell me to fall asleep again. The wall is listless. Sitting in the corner. Is one of those things. They tell you about. But you don’t think will happen. To you. The bricks are painted gray. They become brighter in the day. The bricks are stunning in the sun. The wall turns to me and says “run.” But there is nothing in this world, but sleep and memories from home. In that corner in an imaginary phone. But it is only the shadows from the cracks in the ceiling. A hallucination that sent me reeling. The wall holds. I try to knock it over. Nothing tumbles. Anymore.