pouring out my heart at 4 a.m

i feel that
everything i treasure
has been built from false hope

maybe because i doubt many things
or
maybe because i doubt nothing at all.

maybe because the one thing i want
is a lost cause i don't know
far out of reach

and when i sit
foreboding chokes me
and burns my lungs.

someday i hope to sit on a porch
listening to the rain
and counting petals

feeling a lover's fingers
trail across my pale skin
and breath on my neck.

someday i wish
to love life
without disliking it all the same.

i am addicted to these hopes
like a smoker with nicotine
or an alcoholic with gin

and surely
just like those things
these hopes will be the death of me.

my mind is young
yet my thoughts are ancient
and my body is tired

tired of hoping
tired of thinking
tired of feeling.