A moment of weakness and helplessness

What is to be done when hope becomes discouraging? When it bring back every memory of a previous hope and its corresponding deprivation and degradation?

What is to be done when the only reason I am not crying is that I am holding back the tears, and the only reason I am living is that I am terrified of death?

What is to be done when independence becomes too lonely?

What is to be done when I see the little pride I have left leaking by the second?

What is to be done when the present cannot endured unless better times were promised?
What is to be done when those better times never came to be?
What is to be done when I see a face beginning to wrinkle, a hairline beginning to recede, and years wasted in wait for a non-existent future?

What is to be done when life is no longer empty, but filled with a disgusting mix of desperation, helpless anger, and self-directed hatred?

What is to be done when trying becomes synonymous with failure, and desire with suffering?

What is to be done when I go to sleep every night wishing to never be brought back?

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