Wanting

Wanting

“Give”

I pray to something unknown.

I’m not being selfish,

You know I deserve it,

but the simple greed of wanting

feels wrong somehow.

“Give”

and I don’t say it softly;

give me an epiphany,

give me love, cross the distance,

give me peace

give me somebody who’ll listen.

“Give” this time with spite

cause I’ve earned it,

all the time I spent wishing

for you to return

with your feet on the ground,

hope still kept a pulse.

And I held my breath

to see how long it would take,

would I gasp up for air or

would I fall back into rest?

Now all I have is the want

I use and resent.

The truth will reach me someday,

that you’ll never come back,

the utter crush of realisation,

I might forget how to breathe.

So I try to keep it at bay

I sit and stay and pray.

Hope never wanes,

it keeps me up at night,

it is cruelty to my mind.

I hate hope.

I hope it dies.

it is my expert psychiatric hypothesis that i saw way too many “never give up never lose hope” posters when i was small so now i fail to recognise when i should just. give up.