Box Full of Ghosts

I was dying on a London subway train,
When a bright light grabbed me
With unecessary force.
"Come into the shit"
Spake the Voice.
A horrible she-voice
Of octaves and decibels
Unknown to most mortals.
Pandora's box is open.
"Go ahead and take a look"
"Fall into it."
"Whatever you want."
I did.
I fell into my ancestors
Briny brains and
The tax collectors'
Handbag which smelled of
The worst sort of dreams.
An ancient sort of man-
Or not a man,
In the eyes of those bloody briny ancestors.
Told me,
Take this for yourself.
Hold it close.
Don't put anything in it.
I did. I did.
And I didn't.
My own box full of ghosts.