Hope is a hang noose, where I fall to my death,
Cold frosty fingers that clutch at my chest,
Hope is the blade deep in my back,
A wonderful feeling I’ll never get back.
The sharp tang of blood on the tip of my tongue.
Hard hurting feeling of a fast heart attack.
The destroyer and builder of things made to tall,
Hope is a building made ready to fall.
Hope is the sorrow I hold in my head,
Hope is that feeling they say keep unsaid.
Hope leads to thoughts like I wish I were dead.
Hope is made to create need for the healing,
Hope creates blindness in intelligent being.
Sometimes to hope means close your eyes and stop seeing.
Sometimes to hope means pretend that your being,
Sometimes hope is a wish, wish washy receding,
White water, ink written and bleeding,
Nothing can be as you see it, there when you need it.
felt as you feel it.
Hope is a hole in you saying I miss it.
An empty room, I want out,
A kiss on an angry mouth,
An angry child that pouts.
Hope is a dark hole in the darkness
to let yourself out.


[I am not suicidal this poem is a means of expression. I'm not planning on hurting myself]