16 October 2012
Coated, cold, in scarlet, Symbols, painted on the side, This red box, it holds, in shaking scrawls, Confessions I can't hide.
I will freely give the key to any, Who can find the lock, For the entrance to my choking sobs, Are riddles on the clock.
It's a blue moon of phenomenon, That I will thus reveal, The location of the door to which, I hide my darkest deal.
If you only spare a moment, Of devotion to the game, You will find my rules have shifted, And revealed the contents' frame.
Little Red Box • Opuss № I