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hope.

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i go through this world
floating on empty spaces.
my eyes remain shut.
what beauty is there in the world to see?
my own, personal rain cloud,
a constant downpour falling onto my bent head.
i don't even bother with the umbrella.
maybe if i drag it behind me,
the handle will morph into a hand.
maybe if i drag it behind me,
the scraping will morph into footsteps.
but i don't dare open my eyes.
the truth is a concept i can't handle.
but,
i hope.





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