I ensnared myself in the inescapable business of not caring when the undying desperation of my heart reached a heaviness of fate that my weary wanderings were unable to withstand. Without second thought, I locked the doors and buried the rusty key deep inside of the abyss that lived inside of me, where even my own search is incapable of yielding discovery. Icy, stone walls now diligently keep under wraps my intolerable feelings of inadequacy and guard my outside excursions from the influence of any sense of care that may cause the perfectly manufactured wall of secrecy to crumble. I could knock or wiggle the doorknob, but all honesty reminds me that anything left that may answer inquiry would be an emotion to beyond undesirability to warrant acknowledgement. It is possible that I made the correct decision and maybe the fate of not feeling was truly the safest option left to me, but even with all longings of my heart oh so securely guarded, I can feel the heaviness of a desperate ache holding me to the ground. It may be under lock and key, but it is there, weighing me to this fate, ensnaring me in hopelessness, and keeping me from being truly free. I am weary from carrying all of this dead weight inside of me.