The Art Of Losing Hope
by Mariah K Rowse
Monday, February 25, 2008
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A Specter Of Misfortune
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Because I kept it alive so longÖ
Itís prodding me now to see if Iím still breathing.
To find if thereís an ounce of anything good that it hasnít darkened in me yet.
Just to keep it away.
So I can see it,
But canít feel it.
Then it takes my sight and blurs it,
So I stumble forward blindly, hoping to touch it.
But when I reach itÖ
My hands are so numb from crawling,
That I canít even tell Iím holding it with bloody fingers.
I cling to it and level up to my useless eyes,
Only to see that I donít even know what it looks like anymore.
Face to face it stares.
And still, I can see right through itÖ
Itís fading now, be cause Iím fading now.
Iíve been forgotten,
And it knows it will die soon.
StillÖwhen I do finally lay motionless,
Together, and unrecognizableÖ
They will have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.