I hope

I hope you hear my voice in your sleep.

I hope it wakes you, 

reaching for a ghost in your bed.

I hope you see my face in every storm cloud.

I hope the electricity shocks your bones

carving straight into your heart.

I hope every text message makes you stop.

I hope you wish it were me

scrambling, even for just a second.

I wanted to be enough for you.

I tried to be enough for you.

But even my best had cracks,

splinters I fought to conceal.

The pressure built and it wore me out:

I'd hoped even with those faults

I could be enough.

I tried mending the cracks when it was too late.

The walls had already come down.

Now my ribs burn in wicked flame - 

sorrow enough to shudder,

envy enough to bend,

and anger enough to break.

So:

I hope your pain hurts you.

I hope I haunt your waking moment

confusing what you know.

...

No,

I hope I can become a better person.

I hope I can let you go instead of

lingering on the past.

I hope we both succeed.

I hope I’m wrong and we begin

finding ourselves again