Boxes

They're not labelled, some of them.
Because it's not something you're planning on taking off the shelf for future reference, not something you're planning on taking out to look at, deal with or understand.
Not something you're planning on taking off the shelf at all, period.

It's taped shut with white. Mostly because its hoping to sit there and be forgotten. Mostly because you want it to blend in and look safe and not ever see a need to reach for that box.
No one reaches for the box with white tape. Boxes with white tape get forgotten.

But then it falls open as you're reaching for something else. Catches you off-guard and sends you into a panic.

This box, it falls open at my feet and I'm not ready to deal with it. Not ready to look at all the stuff that I've haphazardly crammed in, spilling out over my toes burning in to me like acid. Like acid.

The worst part is, I can't see myself but I can feel it happening to me.
All over again.

And it creeps up on me, it smiles.
And it won't leave me alone.

These boxes, this box-
The white tape isn't enough to keep it shut.