"The Box"
by E.J. Crowe

Here in the dark,
I feel safe
from a crude, despicable world.

I shroud myself in darkness
and self-loathing,
my mind races like euphoria
seeping through the fragile cracks
of my forever-decaying mind.

I sit in the woods
and ponder in deep-rooted thought.
Society already discarded me—
labeled me roadkill,
useless,
a loser.

They might as well have handed me
a loaded gun,
a noose,
a heavy bottle of Percs and Oxys,
forever deluding my sense
of social connection.

I chose to stay away from the humans.
This is peace—
among famine, war,
and hateful people
with fake smiles
and hollow souls.

I only feel whole
laying in the woods,
my only company:
a half-empty 40
and a crushed pack of cigarettes.

Smoke.
Think.
Smoke.
Drink.
Smoke.
Stop.

My soul cannot forgive this world.
It's forever lost
and ******.

I choose to dance in silence
with the voices in my head,
confronting my own demons.

Through the box,
I see the truth.
That’s peace.