Boring, Brown, Broken Box

My boring, brown, broken box,
sits next to my cracked and chipped trinkets.
It's mad, meaningless, melancholy melody,
rings over and over in my empty brain.

My boring, brown, broken box,
was always there when I was sad.
It's mad, meaningless, melancholy melody,
was the tune that trapped tears right in their tracks.

My boring, brown, broken box,
holds memories in its dark, abandoned skin.
It's mad, meaningless, melancholy melody,
sings to me in my deep, dark pit.

My boring, brown, broken box,
always meant so much to my own world.
It's soft, sound, splendid song,
has its forever-singing silent.

My boring, brown, broken box
does not and did not ever exist.
My beautiful, bright, benevolent box,
is what it is to only me.