These walls are breaking,
I can see the cracks.
It's going to fall,
That wall.

I've spent years building this wall,
Now, you come
To break it down?
No, not my wall!

I'm trying to glue,
But hue.
With eyes blurred,
I see nothing;
Not even bird.

These walls are paving in,
What now?
Just let it fall?
Or do I bow?
Definitely not bow!

Listen walls:
Just tear down.
I'm too grown,
I'm tired and I've tried.
I'm done!

Through the tunnel, distant voices.
Through the tunnel, I see them.
Through the tunnel, the shadows strafe.
Through the tunnel, raging noises.

Through this tunnel all danger is funneled... does this keeps me protected and safe?

The inner walls, are drab and dreary.
The inner walls, comprised of the past.
The inner walls, lined with scars and sores.
The inner walls, are tired, weary.

The tunnel is caving? Yes, from pain I was braving from words, actions, and more.

A foxhole, a foxhole, only as good as its structure.
A foxhole, a tunnel, only as good as its shelter.
A tunnel, a defense, only good when intact.
A defense, a defense, will fall when punctured.

This defense mechanism is a curse and will worsen the person it was meant to protect.

This defense, this defense, is a watery grave.
This defense, this foxhole, is filling up fast.
This foxhole, this trap, no longer has purpose.
This trap, this trap, was not meant to save.

My sadness is a lion I like to pretend isn't in the room.
Truthfully he lies just under my chair, the forced smile, waiting to be awoke by my sorrow and devour me one sob at a time.
His claws, the rush of adrenaline, and his strength, the memories, crush my windpipe.

I am the lioness.
The lion is my leader.