i slipped into a wooden box encased with
childhood trinkets and the smiles
i once possessed.
four walls, i circle around
scraping the remaining abdication out of the corners.
the light fights the cold so i don't have to
and i'm still here,
exerting the force stolen from me.

what do i do when you're not here?
the pleasure of absence is so refreshing.
it's like i'm feeding off that piece of rejection that
you'd snorted.
i am hurting;
my limbs can't push down these walls.
a constant polarization tainted with darkness
clouds the sky and the wooden splinter
and i am still here.
I am still here.

right now isn't the time for love
or for dutiful thought.
i just wanted to mean more than i meant to you.