The Little Black Box


The Little Black Box

2 more minutes.

No, that went by too fast,

1 more- that’s all I need- just 1 more


I’m not addicted.

Addiction is what happens to junkies under the bridge,

No- not me.

I don’t waste my money on hits,

Merely my time- endlessly scrolling,

But which is worse?


Am I an addict?

Maybe addiction doesn’t have to be to a thing,

But rather a feeling,

But no- not me.

The Little Black Box has no control over me.


But perhaps,

I am an addict,

To a drug that numbs every part of the body,

To a drug that eliminates all feelings of discomfort.


I should be happy!

I’m free from the shackles of negativity!

Free from the pain of boredom!


But, is boredom not the driver of innovation?


Have we become so content with one innovation, 

The Little Black Box,

That we see no need for any others?


Only when the drug wears off, do I realize how pathetic it all seems –

Numbing the best years of my life with fake dopamine


But like a moth to a flame

A druggie to a pill

I am left with nothing but the Little Black Box

Asking for just 2 more minutes- still.