Boxed (Poetry)

Pandora is my second name
adopted as more fitting — an odd shoe
to match some legendary life.

My world thus shrunk becomes a box, self-carved —
a curious reliquary
of all I ever hoped or dreamed I knew.

Bored paper ghosts long put to bed
lie cheek by jowl in tumbled sheets —
worn passions written out...

Past mumbled thought — the mind’s tired sea
contained — until anxiety
lifts the lid — succumbs to biting doubt.