The Black Box

it is there, i know, it has always been there,
and will always be there, even if i shy away from
its darkness, always, i find myself taking the steps
towards its oblong door, i promise myself, and
keep more promises,
attuned, the promises do not mean a thing,
and now i am inside this black box again,
the walls are silent like the starless sky,
the floors are ready to receive me back
to their feet, i lie on the bed of desire,
on the mattress of emptiness, i spit, and i spit
on my face, it does not matter now,
there is no trace of sleep, there is only the stare,
but i do not have the fear anymore,
the confrontation is serious, i sin, and i must
sin responsibly. i hug my own body, and i kiss
my face, the mirror that faces me understands
all these, and now, it smiles, and goes back
to the silence that accepts. I have dues to pay.
My pocket is ready to empty its body.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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