I keep my thoughts in a box
thoughts about the future
thoughts about the past
my box is like a book
sometimes I’m scared to look, what’s inside
what was my last feeling that I had to hide
I want to open my box like a spring flower
so I can follow the changing of the color
hour - by - hour
it sounds beautiful, don’t you think?
boxes compared to flowers with some help from an ink.
my thoughts are about to sink
like a titanic I feel I’m about to panic..
my box , I’m afraid to open it
afraid too look in it
afraid to think about it
whenever I’m writing on the paper
or if I’m in my deepest sleep
my box is after me like a screwed up dream
I think I will never be able to clean
my box