By Buying Boxes...

By buying boxes,

life can be bottled up.

Bagged and packaged,

blissfully buttoned

as to not break

the big beautiful blanket

of balled-up bells

and buried ballads.

By buying boxes,

our stories are badged

with a blasé label,

a blunt descriptor

for a mixed bag of bellowing tales,

and lingering babel

bravely brought back

into a bleak hole

to never be baked

into our bulky mythology.

By buying boxes,

the bad can be forgotten,

our blindest blunders

blown into the depths

to barely be seen

in the blues of our days.

By buying boxes,

you'll finally blast your bumbling boss

about how you bleeping hate

his barren head,

hoping he gets betrayed

by a brittle toupee

in the busiest of meetings.

By buying boxes,

we can bleed our pasts dry,

boil away what we'd rather forget,

and blot the good parts

into the bows of our boats

as we sail boldly

into our "best" selves.

By buying boxes,

our brains can play

bubbling with possibilities

at what blazing epics

we can bring into existence,

the buckets of fun

we can brilliantly breed

for the most basic days.

By buying boxes,

we can finally

pump the brakes...

By buying boxes,

we can start all over...

blank.

By buying boxes,

we can let go of

beauty,

and simply just

be.

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