Loud Pøetry Spilled From The Quiet Soul

Part 100

Hope...

Is the monster..

That lives underneath

The bed.

Or awaits in the closet.

To be discovered.

It's so

Paralyzing..

Because

You're stuck.

Sitting and waiting...

In hope

That something

May change.

But people...Tend to get carried off.

Too far in the current.

To realize that

Waiting for something to happen.

Is like making your own coffin.

And barring yourself.

6ft below screams.

Of help and agony.

Laying against the silk

Made from spiders

That crawl on every

Inch of your skin

Biting. And sinking poison into veins.

To be reconstructed.

Throughout your body.

And made into

A war or feelings.

Feeling which soon to ricochete

Off of others and back

Onto you.

That hope that you once relied so

Much on.

Only brought you here.

It pushed you out into the world like

Society sends men to the battlefield.

Emotions are played like a game

Of tic tac toe.

One person can only win.

Or two people lose.

Now that hope.

That chains you down to your bed.

And keeps you hostage.

Forbids you from realizing.

There is no hope...

And no matter how many stars

Or how many coins

You can toss and hope

It lands in the conclusion

That you are worth something...

You my friend.

Are more than that.

You.

Can win this war.