Locked in Boxes We Thrive

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
This was just a manic self enlightened rant I went on I guess.

Submitted: July 27, 2014

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Submitted: July 27, 2014

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It's selfish, ignorant even

To ever think that I had control.

The places we go and the things we see.

It's all fabricated lies whispered on our cheeks. 

The breath, warm and cold, both comfort and fear.

It's excuse at the highest form. 

All of those, "it was painted in the sky." 

It's all you, every single word of it.

It's all your twisted illusions. 

 

What if you just stopped, is stopping control? 

Mid step, mid breath, frozen as winter,

Icicles drilling from your eyelashes.

(As if you had the power to make icicles.) 

What if we woke up where we belonged? 

Rocking back and forth in jail cell. 

Naked, alone, colorless... 

But everything is colorless.

This is where we belong.

We have no where to be, nothing to do. 

 

What if locked in boxes we thrive? 

Dying of hunger, thirst, isolation...

No language, no want, no thought...

It's selfish, ignorant even. 


© Copyright 2019 Katya Yermakova . All rights reserved.

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