In the attic of my childhood home lives a box labelled pandora
Its worn out cardboards sealed with tape
And the dust forms a bad aura
For eight whole years it’s lay untouched
Only poked at from a distance
It’s grimy contents full of hate
Yet the reason for my existence
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 7:52 AM UTC
In the attic of my childhood home lives a box labelled pandora
Its worn out cardboards sealed with tape
And the dust forms a bad aura
For eight whole years it’s lay untouched
Only poked at from a distance
It’s grimy contents full of hate
Yet the reason for my existence