Box

I'm talking about this fabric, this cover that surrounds us and establishes the limit of ourselves, that conditions our thoughts and imprisons or protects the self. I'm talking about this dome, this cocoon that encloses our individuality like a vase that contains everything we are: the body that begins to die when it is born, the conscience that screams and cries without ceasing, the thoughts that ricochet off the walls of this house of flesh, on the sides of this nerve box, confined in this coffin of bones.