this dented and bruised box

hard won and hardly working

its quirk is that its leaking

barely speaking above a whisper

and emblazoned upon its surface

a biohazard sign to remind me

that within lies all things “toxic”

hard earned enclosure of mine

hardly mine but deep inside of me

reminding me that theres some things

that need not be spoken

not unless I’m ready still heavy

with the weight of this god damned

inner box forged of the sick-same

suffering it contains and its colour

is blaze-red like cheeks aflame with shame

the sick-same feelings felt within

this god damned box



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