I don't know how to deal.
And I don't know if I will learn to.
I don't know what it takes and what it will take out of me.
So I shut the lid before I get in too deep, shove that fucking box back into its quiet, dusty corner,
pull the covers up,
and turn myself away from the burn marks like branding, like scars, like dirt,
right underneath every single fucking bit of my skin.