Hope.
Such a controversial word.
What does it mean?
Where does it come from?
How long does it last?
And what happens when it is lost?

Hope.
The word feels slimy on my tongue.
Like something terrible and forbidden.
Something taboo.
It feels unnatural.
I think it may **** me.

Hope.
Looking at it is like a dream.
It dances around like a fairy
In a flowing medieval dress.
A thing of pure beauty.
It is confusing.
I am not used to bright colors
Or musical sounds.

Hope.
Such a terrible being.
It lingers for a time
makes the brain tick a different way.
But ultimately it will falter.
Ultimately it will die.
Then my brain will crash back into the shadows,
And I will feel like a train has hit me.

Hopelessness.
Seems like such a terrible word.
But here I am comfortable.
Here I am home.
I curl up with it on a couch
In front of a glowing fire
On a bitter winter’s night.

Hopelessness.
How it comforts me.
It hugs me with all the familiarity
Of a lover.
It envelopes my brain so it can tick slowly
Toward the end of nothing.
And when it inevitably destroys me
At least it will be my own
This is hopelessness.
This is home.
This is the end.