Box

Hallow walls mutter the sounds apart, The whitewash mask of a time once lost, One side the current rushing in quite sure, Other alone the tide that broke away, Look through peepholes and slivers of light, Cold air in but warm heavy breaths out, Condensation on the latex paint washing, Sins and crimson more regrets in past, The living meet the long gone between, In the yellow and bulk core left hot, Drilling through biting through punching, Until two sides meet call it open concept, Though conceptual does not adhere here, Not here or there nor once upon everywhere, Even peripheral now stare blank and close, Because holding hands isn’t enough, And peeling back layers of grime and plaster, Isn’t going to be enough to merge these fates, Under the popcorn ceiling caving in and closing out, These six scraps might block my sight, Even if you lock and shut and close and brick, Brick me up and in and stuff up my mouth, I’ll rat my way out and squirrel my way up, Ill bite and break teeth on cinder blocks, Nails caulked with paint chips and charm, I’ll be there anyway it’s not a choice anymore.