The Box of Time

Bound up and boxed in

Each way forward blocked

I feel as if I’m forced to be a parasite

Able to do less and less as time marches on

Without me

How can all this happen if I’m not being prepared for death

Shall I never see my child again?

I’ve always felt time was short

Forever fleeting

Never enough time,

I am running out

But it’s going nowhere

A wall in every direction

It’s closing in on me

One day the top will close, too

Written 6/8/2015, just a week after my lover was buried (on my bday) and about a month after I’d moved across the country, leaving behind my kid and their dad to find better work.

I did it, baby. We made it. The top closed and we never have to open that box unless we want to.

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