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This I wrote while in a state of ill mental health - don't worry it wasn't anything serious.


Submitted:Feb 6, 2009    Reads: 87    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


A little black box,
with sides of priceless mahoganny.
Engravings
as incomrehensable as heiroglyphics
enthrall my attention. I gaze
upon
these tiny sketches.
Swirls, stars, broken lines. Just like
my
mind these pictorials represent.
The box is in the shape of a
tombstone. Heavy as one too.
I wonder if it is mine?

A silver lock keeps
the content of this box secret.
Unhappiness
it seems is not welcome within it.
I feel the same. I do. I do. Who is it that
bequeaths
such an enigmatic
object to me? How terrible that only in
death
can gifts such as this be passed on.
I have no gifts
or
anything to pass down. Not even
happiness.

Eventually I prise open
the squeaky lid and take a look inside.
Night
it seems, rests within the box. Shadows
and darkness hide within it and it all
shrouds
the contents of this strange box.
I rummage around it and find some photos.
The eyes
of previous friends smile up at me. Why?
Why do I have to be reminded
of everyone
that betrayed me? They left me while I had to stay.
The memory bounces around my mind.

Taunted I am forever
by it. Why did they leave? Am
I
not likeable? Is that it? Who cares
anyway? I don't
miss
them - the bastards!
Who needs friends? To hell with all
my
relationships! I don't need
that pain in my life. I don't want anymore
friends!




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