These flashpoints of memory bring to my head
Visions of Forrest’s box of chocolates
Some of them sweet
Some bitter
Some more appealing to you than me

These days I haven’t much
Of a sweet tooth
But the box is in front of me
And before long
It will be as empty as your heart
Or my head

So I’m going through and I’m
Picking out all my favorites
With the sweet center
Coated with the bitter outer shell
A touch of your sugar
Encased in a dash of my insecurity
With a finish as salty as dried tears

This box smells so familiar
Like a cross of pine and cinnamon
Sprinkled liberally with
Cleaning products, guilt, and shame

The candy in my lap feels heavy
As a head and when I reach down
My left hand feels something
Soft and warm

But when I look down
There is nothing but this box
That seems to be on automatic refill

For I’ve been here
On this couch
With my back on the right arm rest
Looking over a cushion
At the empty space to my left
For what seems like hours
Of hand to mouth to
Brain to eyes

But this box is still full
And so am I
Just can’t help but wonder
What I’ll find inside the next one
So I take a bite
To find while the
Spot on the couch is not
The box is certainly empty
And it’s shaped curiously
Like this guy I know