The Box

I climbed up into the attic,
On a chilled and blustery night.
But when I finally glimpsed it,
My mind couldn't handle the sight.

The wind whistled and howled,
The box was hidden below
The junk and Christmas decor.
It had nowhere left to go.

I cornered the creature, sneering,
I had captured the beast at last.
The box that had never been opened,
The shift in my flickered past.

But as soon as I did the desired-
As soon as I'd flipped the lid.
The horrors inside engulfed me,
Leapt behind my hands and hid.

Slavery;
War,
Horror films;
Saw.
Animals
Dying,
Blood slowly
Drying.

The gleam of a bloodied dagger,
The pain inflicted by love.
The poor and rich alike,
In the bombing of above.

I trembled, panting, and glanced
To where the terror was so neatly kept.
I could never again turn a blind eye,
And on that day, I slept.

The dreams were more like nightmares,
My body was tightly bound
To the rafters of my attic,
Staring at where the box had been found.