Hopeful

I hope I die in a horrible accident, which reduces to rubble, right down to the matchstick, my things: trashed and compacted, burned up into ashes that somebody leaves (mostly by accident) on the asphalt curb of a highway gas station.

And I hope that no one says my name again and my parents recall only daughters. And I hope my loves lick the last trace off their lips of some stranger they used to be fond of.

And I hope it never gets any bit lighter; I hope the clouds come one day and don’t leave. And I hope this weight on my chest keeps on pressing until my filled lungs cannot breath. I hope I’m running low on sleep and miss the turn entirely.

And I hope that no one says my name again and my parents recall only daughters. And I hope my loves lick the last trace off their lips of some stranger they used to be fond of.

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~ by perfectionatrix on July 24, 2013.

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