Signed, Sealed, Maybe Delievered.

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The chamber doors creep Sun's rays in the warehouse
exposing all the grime from the goings of the wind.
"We must move boxes out of here," a wise man said.
His hand clasped my frame to put me in my cardboard.
Another oversaw packaging; she packaged me “fragile.”
I hear them speak and she said, “deliver in a week.”
Delivered in a week to my new home with other boxes,
boxes that were packaged in the same truck as me.
I knew their radius because of their crippling fear,
the noise of the truck couldn’t cut their quivers.
I could not make it out of this box off my frailty
only would I after the postman had reached my spot.
I am in route waiting to be delivered as I hear,
hear the shadow of the woman speak,
“Delivered in a week” delivered from these four walls
at this point, I had absorbed its fragrance.
The once peculiar scent became my counterpart,
we roam the road of ambiguity together.
Never was the door open to set any box free.
You cannot comfort the mystery in a box
when you are a mystery too to it.
"Why can’t we go back to the warehouse?"
muffled mystery. We hadn’t seen the pollution
thus, we scream when will we be delivered.

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