What is hope?
A dying ember that ebbs and flows on the flame of life.
What is hope?
The end of me?
The last touch of fingertips before a plummet to an inevitable death.
What is hope?
The death of me.
The birth of my all-encompassing despair.
What is hope?
But a curse.
A binder to a life I do not wish for.
A chain to a life I cannot leave.
What is hope but the bottom of a box of curiosity.
I am not curious.
I yearned to be blind and heartless of its involuntarily twisted grasp.
What is hope but a sickness I no longer wish to have.
Please release me.
Let me out of life.
What is hope.
A thing I am forced to have.
What is hope?
But something I want to leave.
Something I want to get out.