I see him often now.
Sometimes in the mirror,
sometimes in the world.
He tells me to give up,
that hope is fool's gold,
that we are lost.
But he offers a hand,
as if to help me up,
only to drag me towards the darkness.
And I challenge him,
draw back in fiery rebellion,
tell him that he is wrong.
I tell him that not all is lost,
that even if the battle is hopeless
that it is worth fighting.
Every couple days or so
we have this same talk,
hoping one day the other will give up.
-Zero
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