Frequent hope leads to infrequent sobriety,

Learning to cope takes too much out of me.

All the whispers and whims,

Make me distant and grim.

Resist the brimming thoughts of possible ends,

Beginning a cycle of diminishing friends.

Dive in and rise up, it’s your only defense.

The alternative is playing with swords and pens.

Waiting around dreading?

I suggest you revel in regret.

Sleep on it, try it,

It hasn’t done me any good.

But it could help you imagine,

The delusions, so candid, that I had,

Found shelter in, but the weather outside,

Was humid, sweltering, and so my mind weltered,

Embellishing thoughts of probabilities,

Brought back to life,

After the storm had swallowed my soul,

And the downpour had shallowed my mind.


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