When the light hits the bottom of the box, he knows he is done,

When the light hits the bottom of the box, and the grains in the cardboard are shone upon

And when all that lay are forgotten bits, paralleled by the dust on his temporal lobe

Then he find himself sprinkling memories on worthless cookie crumbs,

He whispers regrets in the dark of the box

An introspective detox,

The blossomings of a lost cause—

For where under mounds of sweet

Now lie worse deceit

Where sugar hummed along

There plays a new song,

The nooks in his mind begin to doubt

His sanity decides to checkout,

All because the cookies ran out?

The cookies must never run out.