Born into a boxy world.
How does it feel to live in a box?
How does it feel
To be trapped, day and night,
In a box?
Home, school, home.
Home, school, home.
How does it feel
To be trapped, day and night,
In a box?
Drive to school, drive to work, drive home.
Drive to school, drive to work, drive home.
How does it feel
To be trapped, day and night,
In a box?
The tiny rectangles offer the relief,
The straight red lines bring peace.
They give us an escape
From the boxes.
How does it feel
To be trapped, day and night,
In a box?
Then the orange cylinders,
Scattered everywhere.
The tiny round red-white spheres.
How does it feel
To be trapped, day and night,
In a box?
Home, school, work, home.
Home, school, work, home.
How does it feel
To be trapped, day and night,
In a box?
The cylinders are empty,
the spheres are all gone,
The lines are not fading,
The rectangles rule, dusk until dawn.
How does it feel
To be trapped, day and night,
In a box?
The box is closed up,
The mourners have left.
The sun has stopped shining,
And a life has been stolen in an act of petty theft.
How does it feel
To be trapped, day and night,
In a box?
Born into a boxy world.
How does it feel to live in a box?
YOU ARE READING
Words are Knives
Poetryperhaps night is dark to provide us less distraction from our nightmares. Ranking: #267 in Poetry #144 in Poetry
