Pantomime-in-a-Box

I tightly clutch onto lace curtain,
Refuse to end up 6-feet below,
Patch of Kentucky blue grass,
Keeping me safe from rain that seeps,
Into earthen cracks above my cardboard box.

My smile,
Eroded with the compost,
Made the grass green,
The days short and sweet.

The air has evaporated,
I gasp for oxygen.

Asphyxiated by reality,
Comforted by illusions.

Ears cannot hear my cries for help,
As I scratch on the box,
My name,
I cannot remember.

I remain homeless,
Non-existent,
Guilty,
Till I finally decompose.

Forever exiled and confined to this place,
Not even God can save my soul,
He mocks my attempts,
To break the latch.

Copyright © 2009