Analysis of Filling in the Gaps

A rock clatters to the ground.
Left in the dark, it lends it’s existence to let out an echo.
On silent wings, another rock is thrown.
Not seen, not felt. But heard all the same,
Echoes telling me where the walls are.

It strips me of myself,
Never greedy, peeling away layers of soul like pages from a book.
Slowly, the walls ooze forth progress.
It’s just blood, then flesh, then bones,
Designing a form I recognize less every day.
Emptying me out, and creating echoes of rocks I once threw.