Mind in a Box

I am a box.
A carton box.
Large and comfy, like an old, worn out pair of shoes.
And as you see, you can step on me.
You can sleep in me.

I can be your home.

Until I open my box.

And my box is small and wooden
with walls thick and sticky
like an oil spill
like whale fat on the board of a japanese whaler

I can spit in it,
I can stumble on my own deductions
and turn it into my forest.
(with such thick walls, how I haven't thought of this before?)

The road is calling me, like the forest treasured my crooked dreams, my raving elegies.

And I leave my box behind.Because you are my mother anguish
and I'm far from being smart.

Goodbye.