Despair is a wild thing in my chest that knows no repose. It fills my veins with spectres of hope that vanish and I drown in

Despair is a wild thing in my chest that knows no repose. It fills my veins with spectres of hope that vanish and I drown in

Despair is a wild thing in my chest that knows no repose. It fills my veins with spectres of hope that vanish and I drown in the emptiness they leave behind. How to explain to anyone what consumes me when I don’t even understand it? Maybe that is why I write, to try to make sense out of all this madness.

( Letters to my love)

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