My Box
Smiley face
Have a nice day
Shit happens
Neon yellow to mud to blood
And a face wiped clean
It all works out for Forrest, doesn’t it
All the pieces of fate falling into place
But what about Bubba?
His ending is so much messier
Closing eyes and lines but halfway through
We all imagine we are central
Characters in some passion play
But what if that is, always, someone else
What if we are all, always, Bubba
Dying too soon in a swell of river grass
And rolling thunder
Cold, getting colder, and asking for our mama
While our friends and heroes look up and live on
In a swell of strings and rolling credits
In truth, in life
In boxes of chocolate
We always know exactly
What we’re gonna get
-a.r.
I was unable to find who to credit for this painting.
If you know please pass along the information
and I will gladly credit the artist.
Thank you.
sometimesihatemycat 
We always know if we are the ones who choose the box.
Or if we can admit it when it chooses us.
True but fatalistic.
And that observation captures me in a nutshell. I am true and I am fatalistic. Not many know what to do with that, not even me sometimes.
Smiles. Perhaps show you a fate.