Boxes after boxes are stored in my mind,
Each holding a feeling of mine.
Whether it's depression,
Or obsession,
I try to keep them closed.
Though my eyes lay opposed.
To the thought of not peaking,
My hands go seeking.
Within the boxes,
They see the toxins.
They begin to worry,
The emotions scurry.
But it's too late to close it,
And the emotions know it.
From the boxes to my soul,
They take a stroll.
Oh my heart,
I start to fall apart.
