I have a box that has all the songs I never sang,
All the promises I never kept,
Men and women I chose to forget...
You don't have to struggle with the
Last line,
I bet you can see the archetypes of A misfit in the box.
Although I stay put as they decide
Whether I'm dead or alive,
Like some of the people who smell
Of death; I thought they were
Friends from the other side.
I never spoke of them,
Not even to my parents,
Who guessed I will be able to
Retain all the goodness, like a fruit
In the market...
I put them inside the box as well,
Ideas beaten, smashed and
Twisted beyond measure:
We debated if values had any value
Over bland soups,
Passing salt across the table.
The box has a see-through lid,
And you can see what's inside...
Like in an emporium, the glass
Cases storing toxin, lust and
Greed-- you need a bigger trolley
Oh dear!
As I contemplate getting inside the
Box myself, with everything else
Unmarred there;
Everyone needs a safe haven after
All, but the doorbell rings and
I put myself back in the body.