My wall is strong but flexible. I bend I bounce I flex, re-shape. Ill fit where ever I'm needed but I will not break. No one will see my messy insides. Just beneath my wall lies my cytoplasm, thick and boggy. Bits and pieces stick here there and everywhere. Memories, feelings, ideas and personalities. Then in the middle, my nucleus. My black hole. This should be my identity, my brain, my driving force. But its not. Its a deep and silent inhospitable environment. Slowly it will suck in our cytoplasm and everything it entails till we have nothing left but a limp, dried out wall with nothing left to protect.