A small piece of writing titled, "The Box"

1. The Box
I've fallen to the ground and I can't pick myself back
up. I see myself lying in a box because my hands are
tied and my throat is strangled. Strangled by that very
beloved who I kept so close to my heart, it was like
the Sun touching the horizon, like those rays of light
that now seem like sharp cries of pain.
And I know I can't pick myself back up. But it’s not
because I'm too weak to stand on my feet. It's
because I'm so tired of trying to gather that sweet
bliss that scattered away once you realized you
needed me no longer.

2. And now I'm back on the ground and I can't get up. But
maybe it’s because I can see constellations from down here
and I believe I can get mesmerized by these silver jewels so
that I no longer have to remember all those nights when I had
to bleed my heart out, for now I've locked those nights away
in a box. But that bleeding, it carved a hole in my heart so
hollow that all I can see now is still darkness and sharp pain.
And that's perhaps what caused me to fall to the ground. And
now, I no longer want to get back up, because I know that
even if I do hold myself tight and stand still, the cruel gush of
violent wind will blow me away, leaving me swinging like a
hopeless leaf till I finally fall back in my box. Fall, and never
get back up again.