Secrets are a funny thing.

You keep them bottled up, hidden thoughts nobody else hears. It makes it hard for others to get close to you – when you hold the deepest parts of yourself back, only letting people graze the surface.

But some secrets, I think, are better left unspoken.

Sometimes secrets have the power to kill. The power to destroy. We each hold nuclear weapons inside of us, our fingers alway hovering over the buttons for detonation.Most of us press them. Some of us don’t.

I wish I had that kind of restraint.

I’m weak.

Too weak.

I’ve spilled many secrets in my life, secrets that always ended with someone dying. Sometimes because of me. I think about them when I lie in bed at night, see their faces when I close my eyes, relive the moments the buttons were pressed and everything around me imploded.

I’m haunted.

Darkness surrounds me.

It’s dark. 

It’s that heavy sort of darkness, the kind you can feel when you breathe ,the denseness filling your lungs and slowly suffocating you. There is no relief in this darkness…. only more torture.

But I want to leave and live.

And I might make it.



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