There is a box
called Healing.
I yearn for it,
for its contents,
but it is locked.
They keys are at the bottom
of a sea of grief
that I can't swim through.
They keys are hidden in the truth
that I cannot accept.
The keys are amongst the shattered glass blades
of broken promises
that I can't handle.
They keys are in a tree of memories
that I can't climb.
They keys are in roses of
phony apologies
that I can't swallow.
In order to be happy,
I first have to get even more sad.
And I just can't do it.