A Box of Dead Things

-A Box of Dead Things-
by
Keaton Foster



There
Unclear
Under
Down below
A place
A reality
I won’t go
I refuse
Such a noose
I wanna live
As I slowly die
Wondering as to why
How evil, the sky
Comforting
Is the ground
Laying all around
In between
Residence
Capitulation
Via damnation
I was born
That is really it
Nothing more
Something so less
I regret
Just about everything
But I’d still do it
Again and again
A derelict heathen
Without question
God points
As always
As I should
I stand to the right
Others closer do fall
Such a show is endless
A parade of death
With deceased clowns
Riding unfunny cars
Sometimes they crash
Oh’ the hilarity
Oh’ the duality
I am just a bystander
A meanderer
Always standing out of view
That is of course
My only one truth
I am incapable
Undeniable
And most of all
Unreliable
I fight to survive
As pieces of me expire
In my hand
Is what I admire
The cause of my affect
The reason for me being
In my hand
Is a box of dead things
Reminders of the past
Dictators of the future
One of course
Without
And devoid of me
When my body collapses
Inward upon itself
They will place me
No doubt facing down
Into the meaningless ground
They will bury me
Devoid of a name
Absent of a case
As it should be
No one will know
That I am there
This box in my hand
Will no longer be mine
It will be removed
Placed far out of reach
Never again will anyone
Most of all me
Come to see what’s inside…


A Box of Dead Things
Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2013