My Box

 My Box 


The look, its there

for none to see 

but me. 


The way it is 

I can not bear


The darkness is 

for keeps. 


Crumbling the 

organ that gives life.


Piece by piece 

I put them back scurrying

to catch the pieces.


Before any one sees 

the inside.


That I could not bear.

glorification is not there

only submissiveness.


What do you see, 

a whore or consort

I vow it is the one 

before not the last. 


I seek still the imagination

of what should be. 


Knowing this will last 

I have a box that is 

there to keep it all.


This poem is about: 


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741