I put my pain into a box,
And burn it to the ground,
It'll never be the same again.
It's gone, the fire's been put out,
The flames have stopped growing,
And the embers have stopped glowing.
The fumes still bellow,
The wind pushes the smoke towards me,
And the pain enters,
It's not gone... it's changed.
I lock it all away again,
It's sealed tight in the words,
But as I reread the poem,
It all comes back again,
It all flows so smoothly,
Like blood from my vein. |
