A Boy And His Box

Living with My Darkness and My Blackness

Everyday I come home to a new messy my life has made.

On the couch I see me.
Well, I much darker and handsomer me, but I guess it's still me.
He sees me walk in, he says
"Aye whaddup my nigga"
His smile unfiltered and beaming with confidence.
I mummble out a "hey" with a head nod and trudge through the door, into my livingroom exhaustedly.

I see him on the opposite side of the room. He has a hood covering his hair and parts of his face. We exchange stares like we're playing a game of chicken. Our glares going at high speed straight at each other.

I'm always the one to cave and chicken out.

The next day I walk into me on the couch talking to someone on the phone and smoking a blunt.
He sees me, hangs up the phone, gets up form the couch and starts walking towards me.

"Aye my nigga what's up"
While coming in for a hug.
I murmur out a "sup" while staring at the blunt wondering where the hell he got it from.
He notices me staring at it and points the non lit end towards me and asks
"You wanna hit?"
I tell him," no, I don't smoke."
He looks at me and laughs.
He explains while smiling
"You sure as hell look like you need too."
He puts the blunt in between his teeth and walks to the bathroom.

I see him in the corner of the room again. He was there the whole time. I could sense his cold stare from across the room. I didn't make eye contact. I didn't have the energy too. I could feel his smile haunt me as I entered my room and close the door.

The next day I walk in and see the living room is a mess. The couch flipped over and torn up, the TV lying face down, the window open, my cat's litter everywhere.

I could help, but pause and think about how absurd that was,
"Cat litter? Really?".

Then I heard a scream coming form my room. I ran in and saw me pinning him against the wall. Frantically I asked "What the fuck is happening?"
I turn my head towards me, my arm still against his throat with his hand wrapped around my arm.
I yell, "Fuck it looks like my nigga? I'm laying this nigga out for talking shit about you!"
I look at him. He's gasping for breath. His eyes begin to roll back.
I tell me to stop, "My nigga you don't know who you're fucking with."
I response with, "Who? This punk ass nigga ain't shit-"
I'm cut off mid sentence.
I recoil backwards, holding the knife in my heart. My back slams into far the wall.
I run to my side. Hold me in my arms.
My hands shaking from the pain in my chest.
"My nigga don't do this to me," I say trying to hold back tears,"Don't leave alone with him, not again"
I smile, grinning against the pain I say "I'm sorry my nigga, sometimes, shit just happens."
I feel me go limp in my arms.
Consumed by sadness I look tolds him.
He's standing there.
Smiling.
Proud of his work.
A wave of anger flashes over me.
I pull the knife form my chest and quickly held it against his throat.
He began laughing manically.
I pressed the knife against his throat so hard a single drop of blood dripped on the blade and slid down to the hilt.
He looked me in the eyes.
Grinning from ear to ear.
Knowing that I would never do what I was about to do. He knew I would never kill myself. Either because he thought I was too scared or because I had learned suicide was never an option.

His face quickly turned to shock when the blade slid across his throat.
Blood splatted in a diangle pattern on the wall too the right of us.
Blood sparyed on my face.
He fell with a hard thump on the floor.
His back still against the wall. He slumped to the right.
His eyes forever wide with terror.
I felt a weight fall off my shoulder...
And a small smile crawl across my face.

I wake up.
Still wearing that smile from my dream I whisper,
"I win, again."