Black boxes – Depression in a shape.
Boxes of boxes.
Walls of black boxes which unlock to keep stock of chores and pocket troll wars.
Mountains and fountains, foundations, daunting foundations of chanting boxes.
Open doors, several scores, shouting, chanting, wanting more.
Boxes wars, boxes claws.
Boxes you’ve never seen before.
Boxes with fangs who’s hair overhangs.
Boxes with white eyes who stare through dark nights.
Boxes with crispy clear voices that tell lies.
Boxes from which I can’t hide.
Boxes which ride a scarlet demon from sinful pleasure to divine….
….Fill in the last line for me…the boxes are calling.
© G.P Williamson 2018