In the depths of night I crawl into the dark box.
Invisible to the world in that very moment. I cradle my legs buried within the everlasting darkness. I close the lid tight. Very tight.

I have solitude.

It is peaceful and the darkness overwhelming every part of my being.
As hard as you try to peer in, you cannot see me.

I hear. I feel. I am.

Breathing calmly, with a quickened heart rate…I feel you.

This is the part of me that doesn’t want to get hurt.

In a glass box, you would see.
Scared as I am in this predicament

I cannot hide.

Observing only what is available to the naked eye, you form a circle of thought.
The transition from thought to feel is no more than an illusion;
A fear of seeing me step out of the box, though you secretly yearn for it.

In this box, noisy breathing. Can you hear me?

“This is the part of me that thinks all humans are ants.”

Ashamed to step out into the light for I’d be only an illusion.
Like a clown, I’d smile and laugh and then evaporate into this earth.

“This is the part of me that’s trying to be funny.”

A heavy heart does not flutter.

It does not skip a beat.

It does not sing a melody that can be undone.

It pulls tightly from the strings held upon it. Two very different, but very strong strings. Duet.

You cannot sanctify a mind that is already beautiful.

My thoughts alone will not keep me sane, the heart, pulled tightly as it is does not matter. The way is lit up regardless. Heart and hand help to uncover, an escape tunnel below this lonely box.

Speak now or forever hold your pieces of me that fall and slip through your fingers.

Like an art-form.

Pick away at my flesh and scars until I am ripped apart. All to be left is bone and griddle. A weightless soul.

Like a bird learning to fly, you stay perched afraid to stumble.
Like a bird, I am fallen and bruised only to rise again stumble once more.
Forever cycling in the abundance of the sea.

Pull at the strings of my heart, a duet I am faded into the light.
A ghost.

Whispers of what I once was disappear into the wind.
A silent sound of foreshadowing rain,
To cleanse ourselves of perpetual sin.

And what I once was. I always am.
And what I could be, May remain a mystery.
I could show but the strings prevent me to do so.
Ripping the strings apart would be devastating to the puppeteers.

Only sometimes caring. This is a beautiful mind.

OH!
Falling away into your arms’
Something vulnerable.

“This is the part of me that means nothing.”