The force of Sense

The force of sense, of course I repent when the doors of remorse prevent me going forth to my bed.

I'm forced to walk the halls like I'm dead.

Forming walls in my head, four walls like a shed about to fall like an egg.

Crawl like a sled or a ball on the edge.

Tall like a ledge, call like a pledge to all that would beg for a small wooden wedge to put between me and the war in my head.