With Love, Pandora

Penning warnings to war
torn mornings was
a warmth I never

knew I’d want.

Small wisdoms of age brought
me all the tools to open
Pandora’s box
but I don’t feel any more
enlightened for shattering
its padlocks.

My dreams, once healthy, are
starving and gaunt,
and I’ve crossed a set
of lines I
may never

step back from.

I took love and exploited
its lexicons until it was
a sorry pawn in
a game of rooks, sidelined
for good at
the behest of textbook

hands reduced to mere theory,
and the romantics
in us slowly

I fear there will be nothing
endearing about me once
I’m opened up.


7 thoughts on “With Love, Pandora

  1. It’s always disturbing how distilling something into words seems to desecrate it somehow, and yet still leave us holding only dirt.


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