Pandora’s Box

In my hands I grasp the
wooden box that contains my dreams,
Broken like china

during a fight,
Trapped in the tightness of a
panicked chest, lifted

ice in cold drinks
to the lips of rich men, who
struck down the birds

that soared as I once did.
But, in this dancehall,
Our souls are lead,

Dulled and toxic,
Fed through the dark seas
in which I drown,

Pinned against the floorwood
with nails,
With empty hands.

pandoras box

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