Boxed Up

A mind is a storage room full of cardboard.

Boxes of all sizes lined up in perfect rows

There are open ones, ones taped shut

some are empty and being filled

organized and still and quiet

except for the burning fire of boxes

thrown in on a whim of memories not worth keeping.

Cold, callous, almost cataclysmic memories lost

to the dragon's roaring mouth.

Every echo of malice is discarded to make room

for the new.

But you. You were unexpected.

Invading, instigating

breaking into a perfectly placed mind

and opening all those boxes that should've been burned

letting the carcasses of evil memories pounce out

forcing me to face everything I've rid myself of

allowing the cachophy of sobs, of horror, of absolute disbelief to wash over me

ripping and clawing and getting in through my eyes to hollow me out inside once again

and then it's gone

it's moved on

the inkling of it remains in my mind but the storm is gone

all that remains is you, in a room full of overturned boxes

no longer neatly stacked, just thrown about

the boxed up memories spilling onto the floor

It's calmer than it was before, the tension lost

the heat of the fire dissipates as you approach

"Oh dearest", you say, in a tone so soft it's wasted on me

with a touch so soft it's not meant for me

"All you needed was a little Hope."