Firmly sealed shut, a chamber which I‘ve curated over the years. I created it a long time ago, I was too young to remember my age, but old enough to know how I should feel, yet, not quite old enough to know how to process it. 

So I made a beautiful chamber, adorned with memories, moments and streaks of emotions which I choose not to release into the world. 

The walls carved with harsh strikes of shock, the ceiling so gently painted with the softest strokes of despair, and the floor made from the rubble of trauma. The air is filled with melodies of anxiety, harmonies of existential regret and rhythms of fast tempo heartbeats

It is a shame, the chamber is so beautiful, but I’m yet to turn on the light. And I’m far from ready to do so. Every now and again, I open the lid, release the pressure, and act as a normal being should. 

Sometimes, the chamber creaks and groans, I feel the vibrations coming from my feet to my head. It’s as if the ground is about to give way. 

I shut my eyes hard, and it stops. 

I worry it’ll overflow, I worry it’ll crack, I worry it’ll implode, or even worse, explode. But I still add to it now and again, leaving myself constantly on the precipice of destruction. 

This is how I cope.