Contorting myself to impressive lengths
I finally fit in a box
A box of norms
Though
It resembles the Iron Maiden far more
The rusted box
Aged by ancient beliefs still held dear
Tightens
Leaving a flower without scent
Though your dreams are shattered
No more than dust
Dust fits well in a box.
YOU ARE READING
Drifting Thoughts
PoesiaThoughts drifted about my head No longer to be contained Spread forth across the paper Spilled ink.* *Yes, that is reference to another of my pieces; it amuses me, so why not?
