When the remnants of hope have become frozen icicles
on the porch ceiling
When the sun has stopped trying to shine through
When the day looks like night
and the night looks like death
When your demons are free to howl
As wolves on a frozen mountain top.
And in that ice-cold, post-apocalyptic, abandoned town
You still live.
Can you imagine the what power runs through you
When you use your own warmth to melt every piece of ice?
Each wolf runs terrified of the fire in your chest
You turn the sun into a lamp and burn it with oil made from your (un)dying hope.
So can you imagine what power runs through me
There is no moving out of here.
Hello. I finally wrote the next part of The Purge Series. This is, embracing the reality of living with depression and being proud of yourself for making it all the way here.