Against the Box
written by: RJ Cathal
A box closed will always open.
When I was 15, my father told me that there were countless boxes
taped, crammed, and shoved
in the deepest rooms of his mind.
I cannot say I truly understood.
The gap between childhood and understanding
left room for clarity to escape.
I watched a man battle himself,
his own reflection divided from the man that stood before him.
Tired eyes packed every pain away,
looking not at the past,
but to what could be concealed.
I believed this deeply.
I saw that tragedies could never be healed,
only hidden.
Eyes are the keepers, the door to the rooms.
Once in a while, whether it be due to the rot of the cardboard
or a senseless mistake, they open.
Would you ever believe me?
Believe that every box has a vice.
I searched every room,
trying to collect every token of the past.
My hands did not scramble.
My eyes closed as I searched for every escapee.
Those who rolled away
were only a depravity to fight in the night.
Sleepless nights.
If only I found reconciliation in the sting of a bottle,
and not in surrender.
They roll in my mind,
I slip and fall.
They slam into the walls,
rattling past me,
their forms contorting with every second of freedom.
The box lies open before me,
slashed from the outside.
The inhabitants are no longer items of the past,
but feral beasts.
I sit as an observer,
defenseless to their control.
They dance on my tongue,
words that are not my own.
My eyes wane, a freely open entrance.
I would not call it strength,
but a sick habit.
The push off the ground to meet the beasts is not an act of bravery.
My cowardice serves as their sacrifice and invitation.
I have seen them a time before,
their faces sharpened by familiarity.
All there is for them after their destruction,
after their release, is what was known from the beginning.
Tape stretches on its sides,
and my fingers bleed from its edges.
Fatigued from their liberation,
the savages devolve into their first forms.
Tired eyes pack every pain away, a closed box,
a barrier between a divided reflection.
A barrier between now and the next cut.
- Against the Box - April 18, 2026
