Suffer Today, Sing Tomorrow.

Were my feet made of thorns,

I could climb my way out.

Were my arms rich with feathers,

I could fly my way home.

If my eyes could see through darkness,

I could envision a guided path.

If my mind could rearrange my thoughts like a jaded jigsaw puzzle,

I could strategize an escape.

But hopelessness draws me in.

My knees bent towards my chest,

One curved neck-held-head hides in between.

I am sadness,

I am pity,

I am lost.

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