I want to punch
I want to punch the wall
I don’t know why
I don’t know when or how
any wall has offended me so.
All I know?
I want to punch the wall
A wall is not pushed
A wall is not soft
A wall does not budge
A wall stands
It doesn’t matter that people are lying
It doesn’t matter that people are crying
It doesn’t matter what anyone tries to say
Because it’s a wall.
So it stands there all day
Last time I punched the wall
It didn't learn its lesson.
And I hurt for two months and a half
But I'd do it again
It doesn't matter that people are trying
It's a wall
A wall is not pushed
A wall does not care
It's a wall.
So it stands there all day
Once in a dream
Once, in a dream, I was a young man in ancient China.
The walls were covered with Chinese paintings and a stunning young woman stood near in a light pink ancient Chinese dress. We spoke without sound and understood, though I’m not sure what I understood. I said something––something about a trick I’d been working on. As if from a distance, I watched myself pull out a sword and plunge it into my throat. Suddenly, I was the young woman. I didn’t feel anything for the body bleeding out on the ground before me. The blood stained the floor.
I took a step back to avoid tainting the fabric of my skirt.