I would write you a poem about the stars and the moon I would write you a poem about me dying soon. I would write you a poem about my love everlasting I would write you a poem about cymbals crashing. I would write you a poem about how I want you so but I can't write you a poem when you don't let me grow.
In this box contains my life. Yes, this every box, keeps Me alive. Maybe it's cause I put it in there myself. Or Maybe it's because this very box is trailing off and going into a point the way my life does.