Four Corners of a Box

He opened his eyes, hearing the piercing cry of a solitary man, whose bones crushed under the weight of shank-bearing souls, screaming obscenities, and scuffling over cigarette butts flicked from raw hands on bare toes, as his mistakes became clear when he saw death on the walls of his narrow box-of-horror--acceptance of his ill-fated deeds, plucking female flowers from latchkey homes, leaving them for dead, knowing there is no freedom until he dangles from the ceiling.