Do you live here?
Are you safe?

How do you feel?
       Happy?
No?
       Sad?
       Satisfied maybe?

Now, what makes you different from him?
How do you identify your self?

Ok, what do you see?
A box?
Good
Now look inside
What is inside your box?

Why don't we take a walk
You can't?
Why?
Are you stuck?
Are you afraid?

What is holding you back?
The walls?
Ok, who built these walls?
Why did you do that?

So many times before I sat there watching
Waiting, vegetating, it's so aggravating,
Waiting for this hell to freeze over.
I am in an ice box, I guess that's good as long
As it's inside a place I live, because then at least
I get to pace around or dream as is.

You sit there patting me on the head like I'm a stupid dog,
"There there, you'll get over your dreams. We all had to
At one point." I'm supposed to just sit here and feel golden,
This my darkest hour, the only thing I have left is that
I'm here where I can be a "pretty flower," but still I feel
I have no future with all of my dreams stolen.

I would give anything but to feel the fires of youth and life,
Now I get to be whatever else and poor as I am "free."

*One man's trash is another man's treasure, indeed...

Ive been packing up my memories in an enormous box
One of those old wooden trunks with heavy metal locks

Ive been thinking on the past and disregarding the pain
Ive looked at all the photographs; the image is the same

Ive shoved it in a corner, in my attic and my mind
A dark and dank forgotten place where it is hard to find

Yet sometimes I will think on it and dig out my old key
To look on my mistakes and know now that I am free

To the depths I went
Always brand in fist
To find what made these paths
I thought I freely trod

What illusions waited there
To upturn the ship of tranquillity
What machine within worked
To hide the shadows
What lies came in dreams
To veil the truth

And the soul’s guardian, to protect me
Stayed loyal to false master
When it should to my ambition alone cleave
And my song venerate

An ocean lays at my heart
It is still or stormy
Of its own wild freedom
But now I can sail it
For I am bound
To the friends of true depth
Who understand what I truly am

The illusions in me, games of the mind
Shocked for years, shaken in fear
Of harsh words, of the street, of night
The evidence now piles against it.
I have earned my honours
In the heart of the woods
And was always of bliss
And was always of bliss
Gentleness is I, peace is I
Merriness is I, truthseeker am I.

Where has my love gone
Into ***** storage boxes
perpendicular to the idiot box
hidden behind a soap box
a litter box for the nursing puppies of depravity
a window box of opportunity inviting madness in
twisting little cardboard limbs into origami weapons
screaming paper faces of pain
of loneliness inconsolable loneliness
tormented newsprint balloons of pain
falling effetely from pain spilling mouths
of kerosene and matches in the back room
     Where has my love gone where has my love gone
Into ashes on the hillside of despair
or into some small wooden box of memory
where even my eyes cannot see
boxed in like a gift
with a bow


Oct., 1997

Trapped inside a box.
Everywhere I look,
I see confined emptiness.
My limbs are yearning for a moment's stretch.
Trapped inside a box.
My arms are rendered useless,
as they lay squeezed against my sides.
My neck is straining in it's cramped position.
Trapped inside a box.
I cannot breathe,
my heart pounds against my chest hoping for freedom,
How can one be trapped inside of a small box, when their body is in the midst of a wide open plain?
Anxiety.
It is a box.
A box that cripples rationality ,
trapping you.

i have a box,
and nobody knows.
or maybe the box has me,
but as i've said,
nobody really knows.

it's really just fine;
they can't get in,
inside this box,
this makeshift home,
to which i've become accustomed,
but never comfortable.

it's really just fine;
i can't get out,
but maybe one day,
maybe i'll be okay with that.
after all, no one can get in.

i have a box,
and it's really just fine,
i've decorated the insides
with scribbles and tally marks.
besides, no one really knows,
no one can get inside.

i have a box,
and it's really just fine,
some days i forget it's even there...
well, some minutes,
but that's close enough to days,
so the tally marks aren't as many,
but they're still. there.

i have a box,
and it's really. just. fine.
it's got a little window,
so i can see outside the box,
but when will i get to
think. outside. this box.
no one can see in the window,
so it's really just fine.

no one can see in the window,
no one can get inside,
and no one even knows about it,
so, though I have this box,
it's really. just.  **fine.