Ping Pong, balls...

My one wall curves round in all directions      
then falls back down to me the hub of I,      
inside my hide the outside I have shunned      
that grey ghostly glow only I can eye.      
       
A  straight walk from A arcs me back to A      
a backward walk circles round just the same,      
a hamster in a 3D wheel but, hey,      
if it wasn't such fun I'd go insane...      
       
Inside this womb I wonder about birth      
or am I, egg, waiting for warmth to hatch,      
or is here the centre of some joke earth      
my eruption out the fiery catch?      
       
But ping pong balls do not a prison make        
Though these thoughts make my 'pingponging head, ache...