Don't lose your hopes so soon,
the best is yet to come.
Try to heal your scars,
with a sword of merry some.
Your wounds are not physical,
but the soul's dead.
It needs to be sealed from first to the last stretch.
Don't let others to scratch your wounds open,
Have some faith to beat your own thoughts of burden.
Time is a luxury pursuit,
Which your healing will eventually suit.
Your tears won't be a medicine,
but hopes could.
Abused by others,
but can be self-medication for good.
Remind yourself of the promised sunshine,
Tear those clouds of social manipulation and chimes.
Let your thoughts and hopes to breathe through,
Settling over the cement of a concrete grue.