Four Walls

They said those who describe in total detail are those who are observant, but maybe they are just those who have nothing else to look or hope for.

. . . .

Whirring sound of the electric fan at speed 3.

An air-con on for a treat.

Silence but the sound of typing on the keyboard.

Things would go through during at atmosphere like this.

. . . .

Hurt.

Torment.

Heartbreak.

Malice.

Betrayal.

Resentment.

Rejection.

Solitary.

. . . .

All the more could go through. All these feelings can make you feel like you'd wanna hurl yourself at the wall, banging on it countless times. Possibly to rip yourself apart. Or maybe you would just stuff it into this steel, cold box and lock it, remembering the burn or dispose the key. Throw in this seemingly deep, dark and murky abyss.

I guess it's alright if you'd wanna contain the uncertain and evil feelings we all possess, one we can't rely or show, only some to utmost extremes. It's still okay to wanna stuff it in the box, considering you'd burst if you keep it in your heart. But never throw the key. You'd regret. 

Cause boxes were meant to be found and opened.