They say that hope is the thing with feathers;
I say hope is that which tortures the soul.
It is a dancing string, dangled in front of your eyes,
Always just beyond reach.
Hope flirts with your heart.
It teases you; stringing you along,
It laughs in delight at your efforts.
Hope makes you blush at the thought of what could be,
Then shatters your very being when it departs.
Hope is an addiction ---
It hooks you.
It enslaves you.
It breaks you.
Hope is that which tortures the soul.