Hope is a thread hanging off my ceiling like spider webs made from a spider named hopefulness. Happiness, optimism, and vitality, intertwine forming cobwebs at the corner ends of my room... Regret, bitterness, and hopelessness, morph into black-widows crawling on my limbs. Injecting a poison I call mental suicide into my veins. Why does dying feel fulfilling, like being alive for the first time? These spider webs take form of memories falling on my body like rain.... Leaving me nostalgically hollow, like empty pictures inside picture frames. Hopefulness crawled into my mouth as I clenched my teeth shut. Chewed up, swallowed, and left a misfortunate taste on my tongue. These black-widows won't let me sleep..