deepundergroundpoetry.com

Box

Sometimes I feel like
I'm in a box
I cannot maneuver
I cannot break free
Smothered in my own hypocrisy
Of who I am in reality
Wrestling from within
Trying to be something
I simply cannot be.

Golden years...
A euphemism for declining years
At times I feel used
Seems no purpose to carry on
Living a life of feeble mindedness
Is not for me.

Maybe the box is where
I should maintain
Am hidden away
No one can see the real me
The seething hate I clothe myself in
I haven't a chance to be real
To be who I really want to be
I cannot be.

I'm old now
Ready to check out
To be done with earthly matters
All the consumption
All the things I do not need
One day if I say it enough
It shall happen
I will be no more of flesh and blood
I will cry no more tears
For the hurt put upon myself.

Into the primordial soup
I shall go along with all others
Who have passed
What a life.
Live and die.
Part of the overall plan.
Written by elsiesan
Published
Author's Note
I'm on my damn pity pot again.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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