So I was told to sit down and freakin write. What to write about is a different story….
I don’t feel like a poem, I don’t feel like a story really, I don’t know if I wanna write about hate, or write about love, it’s starting to look the same. Guess I’m stuck in this trap, a cycle of burning love and hate.
Okay so I’ll level with you, there’s a box I got and no you don’t want to open it. It’s not a present wrapped gift, not something lovely for birthdays or Christmas.
This box I got is something deeper, darker if you must admit this, it’s got one too many horrors not even I feel like touching it. But who does? Who wants a Halloween rocky mountain horror every day of their life? Like a preview show but you always walk out just at the height, suspense too much for one heart to take.
Yeah I got this ticking time bomb box, it’s black it’s deep and I must say I’m too afraid to open it. Though, here I go cause we all know it’s gotta happen.
What’s in my box….I don’t know but I’m tired of crying just cause it keeps bubbling over. Shit that’s pushing it up and open, I want to be able to control my box. Now it’s controlling me and my emotions. So one two three let’s take a step in.
I got this one in my life when I come home it’s so nice, it’s warm and welcoming and it’s just about right.
You may not be an angel, for angels are so few, but until the day that one comes along I’ll string along with you.
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