The Wall Poem by Monarchist Oleg

am I asleep or did I slip
there is a shift in the heat
of the moment to beat
perhaps we will meet but no
No one knows me
Nee of woman, need of man
my silent night is high
On darkness and cold
Metal tastes in my mouth
Foetal poses in my corner
Under the flickering yellow
Of a tinted bulb
Thumping of feet..
Heaving and shoving
I grope for the wall...
Crawl to the far
Almost there...just stretch
Once more..
I grope once more and sigh
In communion of paranoia
the wall Is not.