Sometimes I’m like that cat Alone in the box. Am I alive Or am I dead. Waiting for somebody, anybody To open the box, To interact And look inside. What if I’m dead? That wouldn’t be the best. Or would it? No more mystery And I’d be out of the box. Somebody would know. Therefore my existence, Even in death, Would be validated. What if they look inside And I’m alive? That would be good - Wouldn’t it? I’d be able to talk to someone. I’d be out of the box. It would be nice - As long as I had the choice To get back in the box Whenever I needed to.
Poetry is my aeroplane 