Hope

BG

A paper that can be easily tore. The pieces produced are thrown into a wildfire. Your eyes will see every piece being burned. Once you touch the remains, ashes will mark over your skin. It will fade, but it will never be erased.

The last strip of hope I have is blown away by the cold winds. The walls built by my faith begins to fall. The mantra of trust I always proclaim now seems lost.

I have nothing else. Just my broken insides and a drunken smile to go along.

THE END

let me hold your words before you leave;

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