What is Outside?

Five months in this box. I would have tried to get away, but someone changed the locks. If I listen closely, I think I can hear some knocks. I always seem to stair at the walls and wonder what is on the other side. Curiosity is the only thing in me that hasn't died. That results in chipping in the paint a bit at a time, even though ironically, time is no longer mine. Is there time in other places? The ones that I can't see. I want to say there is. I want to say I believe. I guess, until I leave the box, the curiosity won't be relieved.