Some people can never be satisfied with the world. There is an itch that develops, when one is in safety for a long period of time, that speaks to you and tells you things you want to hear.  Anything to quell the boredom that sets in. But then you find the more you wash, the larger the stain becomes, darker and darker still, until you are left in a black box and nobody can hear you pounding on the walls, a structure that grows stronger with each well-meaning blow.

I know what it’s like to live in a black box.

I know what it is to break out of one, too.

The knocking is getting louder.

It’s making the dog bark.

Think I might have heard a growl. Dog didn’t bark, but paused for a millisecond.

Edit: I don’t remember writing this.