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Not for Me

Hope is the thing with
feathers and psittacosis.
it is the short tail of a dog.
it is the tantalizing blue glow
of the FLOWTRON BK-80D.
hope is the pathetic drive.
the desperate clinging.
hope is the
expectant hand of
a beggar in a world
where the only
currency is
hope is not
something I
want- it's
something my mother
needs me
to want.
hope is met with whatever this
indifferent universe has on hand at
the time.
hope is a prayer for rain
from a mouth so dry
that it might not be answered
until the holder
of it
has been turned
rug on a sandy floor.
hope is all that's ventured, but not yet gained.
hope is the reason that you're still in pain
it's all the struggle in the
muck that causes you to sink-
all the clouds without the rain
and all the smoke without the flame-
it's water, water, everywhere,
nor any drop to drink.
it's the pink-grey mass
of once-breathing
cancer patients
being eaten up
by maggots
and darkling beetle larvae.
wading through
shit just to smell a rose,
and then swimming
through it, and
ultimately, drowning in shit.
fuck your hope-
it'll do the same
to you.

14 Jun 16

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Jumped quickly into a dark abyss there at the end, but great nonetheless.  nicely done!

We'd love it if you considered submitting this to our upcoming anthology.


 — 11restless