Little Sharp Box

I wander the hallways of my memory
Peeping Tom to my own past
Afraid to go in any room
I prefer to watch from afar
If I watch too intently
Or I listen to closely
I become entwined
and can’t get loose
I stumble from window to window
down the grey matter corridors
Never staying anywhere too long

I turn the corner and trip
I smell fresh blood
There it is on the floor
that small sharp box that haunts me
I don’t want to touch it
but it calls to me like cocaine
it's surface smooth as obsidian
moves like impossible smoke
it is deception!
it cuts like razors in my flesh

I run as fast as I can
I have to get away
I can’t give into grief’s dark call
If open the box I’ll be lost again
slamming uncontrolled cycle
between rage and numb
fire and ice
desert and cave
my soul torn into pieces
littered across my mind

little sharp box
waits for weakness
bides its time
it knows I can’t get away
from the torture of my mind
each time I gather the puzzle
duck tape and gum holding the corners
it knows and waits
to cut me again