Hope Isn’t A Dainty Thing

‘Hope’ isn’t a dainty or delicate thing—

she is blood and grit,

her voice of symphonic echoes

and screaming doubt

with hot breath festering on necks.

Her nails make home in skin,

dragging bodies from bed just to spite the thought thereof.

She forces her way through veins with scorching resistance

until the only choice left is to embrace her.

‘Hope’ was never beautiful—

How bold of you, calling her such a superficiality.

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