This is the final part of my story/poem, but I’ll be starting a new project in a few days.
Suddenly, I’m was lying down on the by then, familiar wooden surface of the box. It was day one starting again, or maybe just another part of hell. I realised that I may have been in hell all along, but hadn’t realised it until then. I knew if things played out as they had on day one, I had a peaceful night sleep ahead of me. I retrieved the cushions and spread them out underneath me, then went to sleep.
When I woke up on the rerun of day two, I knew my options were limited. I had no weapons to do myself in, but I was in box. I used the box as my weapon, knowing I couldn’t keep going through another replay of everything. I figured if I smashed my head against the box hard enough for long enough, I would reach one of two goals; unconsciousness or eternal rest. I don’t know how long it’s been. I’m still there in the box and my head is a bloody pulp, but I’ll keep on trying to bring this nightmare to an end.
Day one starts all over again
This is the part I don’t mind
So I go to sleep
Knowing it will be
The last peaceful night for me
Day two and I wake up in a box
With no weapons and no other options
I repeatedly smash my head against
The inside of this wooden box
Day three never comes for me
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