My mind is my box...

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My mind is my box.
Black, empty, and sometimes very
Cold.
To my left,
Fear.
Fear that one day
I won't even have a cold, empty, black box.
To my right,
Anxiety.
Nervous to acknowledge the fear.
I look up,
it's so cold.
I look down,
There are my toes.
By myself
My box looks big.
But there's room for no more.
Empty.
That's how it is.
Forever?
Full of fear, anxiety, blackness, and the cold.
My box remains open,
Slowly drawing to a close,
Enter?
My mind is my box.





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Thesilentraven This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Sept. 18, 2010 at 5:58 pm
Wow... wow. This is a very interesting poem, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it (although the feeling that you're articulating mustn't be enjoyable to experience). It showed me great insight on the mind (maybe yours).
 
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