I imagine swimming in chronic hopelessness
my hands reach out for hope floaters
even through the foamy tsunami of my panic
Wiping out sounds appealing
but would it hurt less than trying to stand tall
in the face of a wave sure to bring me down
It's that dangerous drug called hope
Deluding me of my own capacity
To push down on a desert of water
To hold myself up
Drowning is an option
I'm not sure
Maybe just a delusion
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