A lonely box.

Loneliness finds safe haven in the shadows. In the morning and noontime, sunlight rejects the presence of this darkness, the shadows relegated to the netherworld. They bide their time.

As the day lengthens and tires and as day fails, they skulk back into the world of the living. They are seeds, and as they set root in corners and crevices, the night grows. It’s 3AM. Red rimmed eyes hate the light. The circuit is open. Streams of current besiege the light switch and are sent back yelping. The screen is the only glow. Loneliness has turned tangible and obese and has taken up residence like a soft lump of sewerstuff stuffed into a hollow box. I am the ant in the box. Suffocation ensues, but not before I am crushed alive. Gouges from fingernails adorn the inside of my coffin.


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