The Box

The box I occupy is
Sort of confined

It is the one I’ve built
Mostly from my mind

(Like the one holding
Schroederinger’s cat)

In a theory to be tried
May currently reside

Sort of dead on the inside
Wondering if I’m alive

Boxed into a belief
Only time is the thief

In or out find no relief
Nor causing mischief

Am I alive in the box
That is the paradox