Hope Decayed
The way I feel
Is yuck, it’s ick
Words can’t describe
This kind of sick
Piercing lesions
Beneath the flesh
Lack of reasons
It’s so complex
Words, exhausted
Excuses, used
Skin has softened
From blind abuse
It’s decayed hope
From silent vibes
The boat, afloat
Too late to ride
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2019
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