Her Little Box

No one seems to see her but me,
She sits in the chair next to me,
Long dark hair in an elegant form,
Beautiful dress of a magnolia shade,
She holds her little box,
Key in slot,
I pray to whatever little God there is,
She doesn't turn that key.

I pray to her little God,
Don't let her turn that key.

No one seems to hear her screams but me,
She sits in the chair next to me,
Long dark hair covering her in a tent,
Beautiful dress colors all washed out in tears,
She holds her little box,
Key in slot,
I pray to whatever little God there is,
She doesn't turn that key.

Don't
Let
Her
Turn
It.
Please.

No one seems to feel her joy but me,
She sits in the chair next to me,
Long dark hair astray,
Beautiful dress swaying,
She holds her little box,
Key in slot,
I pray to whatever little God there is,
She doesn't turn that key.

She puts her hand the key.
No. No. No. No! I said no!

No one seems to smell her sweet scent but me,
She sits in the chair next to me,
Long dark hair that smells of strawberries,
Beautiful dress that has the musk of an old bookstore,
She holds her little box,
Key in slot,
I pray to whatever little God there is,
She doesn't turn that key.

Is she teasing me? This isn't fair.

No one seems be able taste her presence but me.
She sits in the chair next to me,
Long dark hair made of chocolate,
Beautiful dress tastes like cream,
She holds her little box,
Key in slot,
I pray to whatever little God there is,
She doesn't turn that key.

She's turning it,
I can't stop her,
It's over.

I see the strings connected to her milky white skin,
I hear the clank of her body,
I feel the rough wood under my fingers,
I smell the must of her rotting,
I taste the sorrow that surrounds her.

No one seems to feel what's happening but me and her,
She no longer sits in that chair.
Her long dark hair has burnt up,
Her beautiful dress soaked,
She dropped her little box,
The key fell out of slot,
The box has melted into the acid rain around us.

In an instant everything is gone.
Quiet.
In an instant everything is there.
Loud.

My beautiful doll,
No one seemed to believe but me,
I pick her off the floor,
Brushed her hair,
Patted her dress,
Her box is gone.
The key is the golden twinkle in her eye.
I pray to whatever little God there is...
That this is over..

But i know, secretly,
Everyone knows she was there, they could see her beauty,
Everyone knows she was there, they could hear her screams,
Everyone knows she was there, they could feel her pulling on their shoe laces,
Everyone knows she was there, they could smell her strawberry hair,
Everyone knows she was there, they could taste her poison.

She was the beautifully mischievous subconscious that existed and was denied.

And now,
She's dead,
We're dead.

Author's Note

So this idea kind of came from a dream and here's what i got.

It's really just kind of like our mind, she's a part of our mind that everyone is ignoring and eventually she gets fed up and opens every door to our mind. Like when you have a break down. Saying, don't ignore your thoughts, opinions, and mind. When i say no one seems to see her but me, it's when i feel like everyone around me has no mind or morals. They have them and they ignore them. She's a doll, our mind is our puppet, you know? So if our mind is ignored and dies, we die too. The key was opening all of our thoughts at once. Which was like drowning her. If you ignore your mind it will rot away, i could go into so much, but you all our probably bored. Please tell me your interpretation.

Reviews

[J.A.Thompson]

this is great. frankly, i am shocked you don't have pages full of reviews for this, you certainly deserve it. anyone can crank out a few rhyming words, but the amount of people that can make something as beautiful as this, and give it meaning, is far too little. I interpret this in several different ways, none very close to what you said. still, excellent. i have no criticism. this is going into my favorites, for sure.