They were hopes of better days... but they weren't

They were diffrent flavors of hope. More like hopelessness.

They weren't serious, so nor are they.

I count the ones I'd take a bullet for ending this life I call mine..

A train smashing me against the ground into a cofin

Counting, the very select few.

But he lost that privilege when the respect for me and this life of mine,Evaporated.

You...

Your mine not the kind you keep in a box to keep your just, mine. You respect my weirdness and smile. Your glad of  my life, that I made it through all that so I could be here.

I hope you think of this, on the bad days as i do.your special... to me if that counts to you.