F in a Box


Old friend,

look at me now.


As of late

I took over the minds of the privileged

drawing them in,

playing with their communication.

And finally,

someone bought you out,

and ran you out of town.

Once more famous than me

but now a distant memory.


Now I, my friend,

rose above, below, and all around you,

you, a M trapped in a box replaced by me,

who chopped off your two right legs,

built me, and made a better box.

A box in which your white leg keeps me upright.


By day

my subjects turn on their devices

and log into me,

taking their morning one message at a time,

sending next month’s plans into today’s



Your followers Poke me,

because they no longer need your space.

Over 40 million strong and growing,

more famous than you ever were.

And as I grow in numbers,

my heart grows with broken keys.


These drones I created do not know me

but you, my friend…

you know.

You have seen private pictures spread like a virus,

and I played a part in it all.

Their broken dreams and sold hearts,

their lost lives and spurned pleas.


Oh, my friend,

I broke more hearts than

I kindled flames.

I caused more deaths than you ever had.

I threw destruction, depression, and

chaos into their homes.

I carry the notes of their brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters’ last words.

And I can bear no more.


Old friend

if I ever see you again,

I will beg you to please

bring me from this Face I have been in.


Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741