I keep putting myself into a smaller box,
And then complain that I feel claustrophobic.
And I make the walls thicker,
And I make them sound proof,
And I make the doors increasingly harder to open.
And then I complain.
Because I put myself in a room with pictures,
But no windows.
I do it so that I can't see the present,
And I can't see the future coming.
All I can see is the past.
All I can see are pictures of my old boxes,
The bigger boxes.
Boxes that I could get out of.
I'm in one without a door right now.
I'm going to stay here for a very long time.