To whom it may concern:

The end is nigh.

The end is near.

Yet that is a lie

Told only through fear.

If it were said that

Once upon a time,

A trinket box would

Hold the world,

It’d be painted as a crime.

Solid strokes

of jittered nerves

that slashed a page,

in a word? Absurd.

Assured in the destruction

Of all that’s contained therein,

Seems like such a fruitless waste…

Yet here we are.

Let’s uncover its secrets,

Let’s uncover its lies,

Let’s prepare for the ugliness,

Wearing a beauty’s disguise.

Or is the box just a box just a box….

Just a box?

Nothing is as it seems

But reason remains to be seen.

It’s obscene.

How can so much

Be held in so little?

Or maybe it’s just an empty

Hard shell of what it used to be…

That also remains to be seen.

To whom it may concern:

No answers can I give you,

The silent auction ended

Behind a darkened window.

Only one action

On this can shed light.

Open it or don’t,

Fight or flight or fright.

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I Am Alive

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