The Death of Hope

Smothered by brewed drops of death;
Hope wrestles ’til limp,
drained by retracting streams of possibiities
because the tides never quite roll in.
I’m no longer flooded by fallacies and
false pleasantries.
Despair, made fully aware,
drifts into heart’s altar
enacting afixia.
Pale, blue, rubbery crow
plucked bare by reality…
sick from toxic puffs of
love gone awry.
Lie after lie
wake and watchful
rob me blind.
Darkness becomes sublime
before the treacherous dawn.
Life trembles right before it dies.
Now, I exist for another time.

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