Hope.
Hope, answer this. Why do you seem like a lie? Like a fake truth? Why do you portray yourself as a thief, brutal and soaking like a sponge? Why do you take, but never give? Could you really be that selfish?
You can't possibly be so. You've saved many. You shelter people, enforce their drive, brighten up their darkness with your glow.
What is your purpose?
To give people a false claim onto their ruined reality? To delay the inevitable grip death has on them? To spare them the harshness of this decrepit world?
What, just what, is your purpose? I don't understand.
Tell me, please, tell me what you're here for.
My brother worshipped you, he believed in you, cherished you.
Until he died.
He loved you, everyone says you did everything you could to save him.
If that's true, why does it feel like a bad joke?
Stories are told about you, your name itself is known as a blessing to most, and it is said that those who don't believe in you should cower in your shadow.
But, why are you so picky? Why do you lie?
Why do you have favorites? You favor people who aren't broken. Favor the wealthy, the innocent, the healthy.
Why do you throw away the needy, ignore the pain and filter out the sadness?
You claim to be readily supplied for all, yet were you when I was dying? Where were you, hope, when I was crying, begging for your kiss? Why'd you forget me?
Am I not important, am I too impure?
Am I not worthy enough to be taken under your wings? I bled for you, dragging the blade across my skin in prayers. I've shed tears for you, gained bruises in your stead and yet, so selfishly you stand, snickering, mocking me for my useless efforts simply because you don't wish to exist.
You don't get to make that decision, sitting upon your righteous high horse, taunting me with your deceptions of kindness.
I've held guns to my head, over and over reciting your name in a ritualistic prayer. I've broken bones trying to reach your height but failing just out of reach. My fingertips have skimmed the very essence of your being, yet it is not enough for you, is it?
What more do you want from me? What else could I possibly offer you? Would my life be sufficient enough to bask in a minute of your glory?
If I drink my life away, would you come to my doorstep and beg for forgiveness, kneeling to be let in?
If I build a one-way bridge, would you take my hand to stop me from falling? If I were to drown my medications within myself, would you finally take notice of me?
Would you force your way in if I were to stand in traffic, putting my trust into the very strangers that I hope would damage me?
If I ripped myself open, would I find you waiting for me there to free you from the trapped confinement of my own dark mage?
Would you care after I'm gone? Would you remember me? Would you show yourself to guide me to the next step in death?
If I called out to you now, would you answer me?
I've lost who I am, lost my way.
Take me home to where I belong.
Hope.
