my box is empty

the life where i kept myself, this box of me, i was rooting around for some semblance of who i am or was or might be, i'll settle for a figment now, but there is nothing here, some old receipts and a torn movie stub from last years premiere of avatar, the rest is just unknown scraps of stuff that could be anyone. even this parade of holidays has left the station without me, i wasnt dressed and didnt study my part like i usually do, no stuffing the turkey or rushing through walmarts for undiscarded giftings, stuff that neither i nor they want but will have to take once its wrapped and delivered. i'm out on the streets this year or laid up with a bad feeling throughout my body. whats the point, everyone can have a good time without me i guess, i'll be looking for some kind of redemption or deliverance, maybe just a long layaway plan for the soul, something not too dear but affordable for the unemployable and bedridden members of the clan. the days are like weeks and the weeks are years without end.the life i was living seems chimera-like spinning with colors but having no substance. the future is invisible, the eternal stuff i am sunk in, more concrete for this one, is unbearable, just the waiting alone is an eternity. release all desire and the sense of time ends, without wanting there is no time, time wants and space provides time a place to wait. i am in the doctors office, actually sitting on the examination table, told to wait, there are dog eared magazines from years of sick patients just like me waiting endlessly, shaving pieces of their life away waiting to find out how much that will cost them. its a spacey place this eternal purgatory. no amount of wanting can unstuck me, no unwanting no not wanting can exist when there is a place and time and a change occurring in the world that traps a physical being into identification and suffering. To not be identified, to fear nothing, to be only and not add a reason or description to that, there the world ends and i hope that my stop is coming, some station without tracks or counter, some bench with the whistles whispering through the night stillness and the emptiness of time undone.