It's hard to believe that there's still hope.
Sometimes it's just easier to pretend there isn't and will yourself to cope.

I like to imagine how terrible my life is and say is it really worth my time anymore?
But on late summer nights, I always catch myself thinking about how joyous the times were before.

When will you give up? One voice says,
you’re so special to me, the other relents.

And suddenly,
how desperate am I to wash my sickly spirit with soap,
say I’m wholly sorry for throwing you off this dreaded boat.

but...
But!
I can’t seem to change no matter how hard I implore.
It seems like my whole life is just nothing more than a cheap set of decor.

so here am I,
spiraling.
Farther...
and farther,
into a deep dark pit that’s lit ablaze,
I can simply wonder if I'll have the strength to make it through its smoky maze.