Locked room

Room full of boxes, filled with unused emotions, overflowing feelings, useless memories. I stack them up over and over again, hoping they would disappear, suddenly empty themselves. Is it safer to collect them in a locked room or let them run free, escape the cardboard house I planted them in?

If I just organize them, alphabets, weight, units, will they make more sense? Will I find a place for all of them from within me?

I feel the urge to let them out, let them fill me so I can combust from all the unshared sensations but I'm too scared to find out what will happen after it. Is there anything? Will I feel a thing?

I'm afraid I'll turn into a numb carcass, once so full of life's disappointments, now just an abandoned shell with a hollow echo lingering in the empty space where my soul used to be.

I pile the boxes on top of each other. Time after time I read the labels of the dusty feelings. Scared to accidentally scratch open the seal and let them fall out. I stare at the names of the sensations once so familiar to me. Now I can't remember any of them, afraid to even ask.

All my life the scariest thing was the dark matter, the feeling that weighs so much, it runs over you every time you whisper its name. The box it lives in leaks shadows all over the place, leaves bleak air behind it. To me anxiety and sadness were easy, loss and fear were nothing compared to the darkest, rotting emotion.

For you the red roses with their thorns are part of the journey, the end goal where you want to end up so bad. Touching the daydream is what you need but I want to run away from it. I locked it in the room, left it behind secret codes and locks without keys.

My deepest fear isn't fear itself. It's not the dark you see before everything ends. I have left them in weak boxes, ready for them to burst out any moment. I don't care.

The darkest fear that lives in my consciousness is the soulless being of love.