Pandora's Breasts (Cause if I called it Pandora's Box U Might think it Had Sexual Connotations)

My fault was slamming the lid shut before Hope could escape.

Now Hope needs 911.

You remember the story. All the horrors of the world are released from Pandora's Box... but there is one last thing in the box...Hope...

But I slammed the lid shut on the little mofo.

I was so angry about all those horrible things, I couldn't help myself.

I didn't know Hope was different.

I still don't. I'm still afraid. What I've held as Hope has so let me down again and again. "To this day sometimes when things are really bad the only thing we have left is hope. Even then some people will say hope deceives us."

And I thought I was being original about the hope idea. Goes to show ya.  It's like you learn at your first theme party: "It's all been done before."--Angels in America

Like, you'd think stories of Hope would help. But lots of them make me feel more like, "yeah, chalk one more up for the normal people. Good for fucking you."

And like bad stories are supposed to make me feel good? Grateful? They make me feel bad for those worse off and afraid I will be like them soon but without the gritty determination those stories always give them. How they manage to be happy in their horrible painful lives while you, scum that you are, are miserable in the lap of the gods. Because they have Hope.

I want to hear stories of the weak. The Hopeless. I'm sick of survivors. I want to bitch-slap them. But it's pointless cuz they always win.

Is Hope, the hope in my breast, recoverable?

I'm afraid to even ask.