A hopeful feeling,
though surrounded by
hopelessness encompasses me.
It envelops me,
until I can hardly discern
the space from red to blue as they melt together.
I write soliloquies,
upwards to half of ten pages long,
trying to get these thoughts out of my head.
Anxiety’s pit comes to my stomach,
all through the day I have this pit,
I experience this feeling mostly continuously.
I know that this is not a new sensation for me,
for this pit returns at least once a calender’s line,
between the hours of seven and ten.
The hope that I wear like a northern man wears a jacket,
only because it is what will keep me alive,
is starting to develop holes more difficult to patch than before.
The hopelessness,
it never fully goes,
it’s always back before I know it is gone.
Even if I so wish to,
I cannot rid myself of this,
This hopeful feeling,
The one encompassed by dread.