I had grown up with the naive belief

  That everyone had this hideous weight pressing on their being

  Whether that belief was built by my own clumsy hands

  Or cemented by the words I heard repeated over my days, I could not say

  But it is a large part of the disconnect I cannot shake most days.

  I would stare at the ugly black sludge seeping out of me

  And blink at the accusations thrown at my face with an almost aggressive care

  The disconnect was a yawning chasm

  Opening between my lungs and stealing my breaths, the floors between us crumbling into sand

  There is a line I was not aware of before

  Do you not carry the things I do?

  I walk slowly with arms stuck to my sides

  Mouth carefully measured, nor open nor closed

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  Just enough to keep the glint of white teeth alive.

  My feet dive into something persistent every few steps

  And my body teeters with the effort needed for a picture of straight ways

  My world moves on a pretense I thought shared

  My world moves on a pretense I thought you shared.

  Staring at me with curled lips and a storm of something terrible in your eyes

  Was your agreement false? Or am I beyond the normal line?

  Do you just

  Not carry the things I do?

  I liken most things to tape most days

  The light breeze is but a reason for me to stay home

  Carefully tucked under slowly blackening linens

  The sound of laughter is a surety pushing down my throat

  And the love ringing in my bones

  Is merely a reminder of why everything I have

  Rings.

  There is no escape out of this

  There is no room I can enter without the hue of phantoms stealing every light

  The smiles will dim, the faces will tighten

  And the lines will turn wobbly and hazy under my eyes.

  It is my own naivety

  It is my own sin

  Wanting to be loved

  With such a hideous thing.

  You do not carry the things I do.

  I have been well aware of that.