Hope is something I wish I didn't rely on. It keeps me alive. And I loathe this part of it. I lay on my couch yesterday with words of suicide on my tongue and thoughts of good things to come in my mind. I trusted the good things to come and decided against reaching for a kitchen knife to hopefully nick my wrists with but alas hope told me to hold on.
He might come back. Wait a year and you'll finally get him. Just remember how it felt when he kissed you. He'll change, you know he will. Forget the fact he's tearing your heart out whilst you are sleeping on your couch because your father is screaming drunkenly at your mother upstairs. The boy'll come around.
Hope makes me invisible. Hope stops me crying. I don't want that. I detest waking up in the morning with a new perspective on life. I don't like the girls who cry in my school year.
Why do I go on social networking sites nightly or stare at my phone, desperately waiting on one little text? Because in those worlds, I'm a happy child. I'm a child who likes themselves. But even my fantasies are turning against me.
Hope is killing me slowly and ever so torturously.
"When you try your best but you don't succeed. When you get what you want but not what you need. When you feel so tired but you can't sleep. Stuck in reverse. And the tears come streaming down your face. When you lose something you can't replace. When you love something but it goes to waste. Could it be worse? Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones. And I will try to fix you..."
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