Day 2: Darkest Hour Poem

Your darkest hour was
When you woke
Still absorbed in the cotton wool of illusion

When you banged against the thin needles
Decorating the otherwise ugly wall of disillusionment

Your soul was extracted from you with tongs
It hurt so much, you cried with no voice
The pain pushed you to the edge of an abyss
On the other side of which you’d see lava
And flames so white they froze you.

The tongs were cold, icy cold
And all inside you glued to them
When they were pulling at your soul
Extracting it.

So that you lost it
Tears felt out of place
The darkest hour – jumping the train to
The Happily-Ever-After dope.

03.11.2018

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