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Boxes

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(Note: Was feeling a bit spiteful and scared when I wrote this)

Boxes piled up, piled up,

Ready to go up, upstairs,

Into the attic, to wait another year,

Just to be taken down again,

And again.

Merry Christmas,

But you'll be dead before you know it,

And those boxes will pile up, up,

And never go upstairs.

The End
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Author guidance for This poem

hundred-to-one Not supposed to be great, more of a venting place. Mostly free-verse.
updated Mar 16 '11 by hundred-to-one

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hundred-to-one hundred-to-o... 11 pages

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hundred-to-one You're currently reading a chapter in the poem Someone You Know. This chapter was posted on Jan 2, 2012 by hundred-to-one.

This is a collaborative poem.

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"Anything you want it to be, really."

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