The place in which he lived

He clutches it tight.

The walls paper thin, but no light is let in.

Buried inside, its secrets sit entrapped and out of view.

Easy to carry around, not a struggle for you.

On the outside, its appearance remains the same.

Same color, same face.

All seems well.

But its wings are sealed shut,

only opened to fill with what you conceal.

The weight thickens. It can no longer fly.

You can hardly hold what’s inside.

Your grip starts to abandon your lifeless hands.

The final descent of it all begins.

The wings unravel.

The secrets escape.

It crashes to the ground.

Destroyed and crumbled, flattened.

A box when closed let’s in no light.