The darkness of my box comforts me,
It holds me close and suffocates me.
It blocks my ears from the chirping of the birds,
From the cars passing by the roadside.
The darkness of my box protects me,
It kills me and pulls me in tenderly,
Whispering to me that I may never leave,
The darkness of my box haunts me.
It lingers on the tendrils of my hair,
Tugs at the loose threads of my sleeves.
It lies and tells me I need it.
I believe it.
The darkness of my box calls me.
On days I can't go on, it beckons me;
'Come, they hurt you outside,
I wouldn't hurt you, you're safe in here'.
The darkness of my box whispers to me,
It scorns me and shackles me
It liberates me and lets me fall.
The darkness of my box does have a form.
It reaches out to me with familiar hands,
It speaks in a voice I could never mistake.
The darkness of my box does have a form,
It's frame is that of the weak that has succumbed to the voices.
In it's veins are the tears it promised to keep safe,
The darkness of the box stands in the mirror
And it calls out my name.
Kon Èmè
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