There’s a box beneath my bed,
Full of words I never said,
Letters that I wrote in vain,
Wrapped in ribbon, tied in pain.
Every night, I hear it call,
From the shadows, down the hall,
A whisper from the past, so clear,
A melody of every tear.
Oh, this box of sorrow,
Keeps the memories hollow,
A testament to love gone cold,
Stories that were never told.
Photographs in black and white,
Moments frozen, lost in time,
Promises that turned to dust,
Fading like a lover’s trust.
In the silence, I can feel,
The weight of every broken deal,
A symphony of old regrets,
Echoes that I can’t forget.
I’ll lock the box and hide the key,
Pray someday I’ll be set free,
But until then, it holds my soul,
A box of sorrow, growing old.
If I could burn it all away,
Would the ghosts of yesterday,
Finally, let me breathe again,
Or would they haunt me ’til the end?
