Hell in a Box

Hell is a box that we crawl inside
Not a place, not an eternal fire
But a choice we make to either see
The light or the dark desire.

When anger is wrapped in a bubble of pink
What lies beneath is revealed
To be but but sadness and fear
That can be held and soothed and healed.

But when it is thrust in a dark black box
It lingers and festers and glows
So that no matter how much it is wished to hell,
It remains inside and grows.

To crawl in that box of darkness with
The cast off and disowned fears
Is to be in hell of one’s own design
And pierced with one’s own spears.