I'm pill.

 Little problem solver, liquid dissolver

a symptomatic revolver, a social four leaf clover

a defrocked loner, a crowded cloner

singular power rolled over, a new trick for Rover.

Boxed in.

Hidden depths, a concealed Loch Ness

monstrous myths to lock the deep from guests

where I lie at rest, awaiting reanimation,  and my lie's did the rest 

for only one, maybe, deserves the honest confession of what's suppressed

A hidden package labelled with no address and that Pandora was just a test

an open chest is what was left, closed it with fables written in a chaotic mess

spilled stationary, white noise tells my vision echoing the static in which I am dressed

crackling a cackling witch to band aid the broken ribs, though I was left with less flesh

her true identity is but a guess, in blood she was blessed 

and in blood I boxed all that wasn't faith bereft

buried it below, written with a cautionary tale and no address.