when hope drains out like a soul moving out of a body,
it is difficult to walk a path with purpose and steady
when love becomes a baneful burden,
there goes a slit in a wrist, and deep, dark eyes swollen
when faith blurs and requires mere senses to see,
death waves at the doorstep, and life seems to does flee
when the demons take over,
I am dragged down to hell
into the deep pits, seemingly detrimental forever
but I am a dichotomy that neither likes fair-hell or farewell
IA ☕
This is a poem I'd likely write to my younger self.