What can crush an illusion,
such as hope, but two words
with a lone realization?

It’s a false pretense
baiting the walls with
memories shadowed in deceit;
gone are the visions of a
tomorrow filled with laughter
replaced instead with baited
breath – rapid succession beats
tearing apart the soul from the
core inside, trapping the victor
in a whirlwind of what will
never be, and what never
shall even be dreamed.

It’s admitting failure in
the eyes of wanting to change
what can’t be tamed, what has
not even occurred, with what
we could only paint in fantasies.

An illusion such as hope is
our own downfall – a harboring
destruction in our quake of
reality. It is eminent yet
no longer promising; rising
in our ashes only to spread
its wings and recant our spirits.

So why do we hold on for so long?