What is hope


Hope is a lie wrapped in words.
Hope is cruel, it knows where it aches. 
Hope is hard, it dares to live with the ache. 
It makes us wait, not for salvation,
But for an illusion that never was, never will be true.

Hope dies for nothing.
Again and again,
it collapses like fragile wings
And yet, somehow,
a thread of it remains,
wrapped around my chest

Hope aches in my lungs
not gently, not like a breath
but like smoke,
like fire without warmth.
It bursts through my ribs,
rips my soul to held anything together.

Had life been easier if hope was buried alive?
What If it was silenced before it could whisper. 
But then what'd be left to endure,
What would be left to breath for. 

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