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I hate you.
You come around once in a while,
making me think I have a chance in life.
That maybe my pain will end, replaced by the happiness I can vaguely recall.
But joy eludes me, leaving me with only pain.
Misery is my only companion; it does love my company,
and I do not care for it in the least.
Then you arrive, making one of your rare appearances.
Creating brief illusions that things can be different this time.
You make me carry on somehow, suffering through each day.
And through it all, I wonder if I'm a fool to believe you exist.
At times I think that I should banish you from my life,
and put an end to his charade.
You are hope.