Boxes, and boxes of things I thought lost.
Dust settles there, like the dust in my eyes.
Open one up just to see whats inside.
Found the one thing I thought I’d never find.
It was us. In a frame. The glass was cracked.
It was faded. And old. Just like our pact.
What was vibrant, is dull. Shiny to lull.
Discarded here. In this house. Not a home.
Open a few more, might find an echo.
Sitting in tape like it’s just a meadow.
Nothing can grow here, this basements too dark.
Still all these boxes will be torn apart.
It’s not us. A drawing. Made by a child.
It’s colorful. And old. It made me smile.
What was present, is gone. Gift to a con.
It meant nothing. It’s paper. Not a home.
Throw out the boxes, I need them no more.
Like I don’t need you. I walk out the door.
I’ll leave you behind, like the boxes here.
But your already gone, so I don’t fear
Being alone. Collecting dust.
Left to the elements. Covered in rust.
I don’t fear
Being alone. Collecting dust.
Left to the elements. Covered in rust.
Being Alone.
Collecting Dust.
Left to the elements.
Covered in rust.
Boxes and boxes. I give them away.
Will I find them again? Maybe someday.
For now, they’re alone.
Collecting Dust.
Left to the elements.
Covered in.
Rust.