Somebody I loved once gave me a box of darkness, wrapped in promises and lies. A box of immortal suffering that can never be beaten or killed, only held, soft and steady, through a world of blinding bleaching sun rays, this box of darkness holds so much of this baffling and mystifying reality. Somebody I loved once gavee a box of darkness, heavy with deceitful traumas of years past I hardly remember, and I carry these burdens, this box of sorrows inescapable. Somebody I loved once gave me a box of tired and twisting hope through cracked roads and that ******* sun, scorching and glaring and revealing in ways even the shadows of cardboard corners can't hide. Agonies of rage and terror, shattered years of fear and hiding from everything and everyone, but no matter where inside this box you look, there you are, and no matter where you go, where you turn, where you look, a weight strapped to your chest can't be outrun no matter how fast it starts to tick. Somebody I loved once gave me a box of their darkness, and I strapped in, threw my own **** inside, and resented that nobody helped me carry it. I still carry this box of darkness, mine and his and yours and theirs, darknesses that, even illuminated, still cast so many shadows on every part of who I am while I wonder where the ******* spotlight is, not realizing. Never realizing. If I can't bear to face my shame, why should anyone else?