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The Box

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He put her in a box.
Not a glimpse the memories she gave him,
not a glimpse to her swollen face.

Does it have a red ribbon on top?
Does it recall the Xmas boxes?
Or is it a simple paper box,
 meaningless, simple,
anonymous?

He put her in a box.
To get her out of his way.
All her words, all her pictures, all her love.
Put aside.
Useless.
A waste of time.

She cannot breath in that box.
He does not feed her.
He needs her to die to let her out.
He keeps promising her he will let her out.
As soon as she gets better.

And in that box,
he needs to throw away all his feelings,
bad feelings, good feelings, who cares.
All thrown away.
All too exaggerate for him
now that he is so desperate for simplicity.
Poor fool, he cannot accept the truth.
Complete simplicity is out of his league.

He hears the noises, from the box.
She is trying to perforate every single inch
of every side of that prison.
She is screaming to make him listen.
He barely hears.

His will is stronger than hers.
She has always known that.
He will never listen to her.

And she, she will be his prisoner in that box,
until he believes that box
is all there is,
all is left of them.

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