I hope one morning it hits you hard.
Squarely in the chest.
I hope it leaves you breathless,
you flail to the floor wondering what has struck you.
The floor is cold.
The wind thrashing and whipping against your bedroom windows.
Your fingers clinging at your bare skin.
Breath that your lungs cherished so,
leaves in shaking, hissy coughing.
I hope it kicks your door in,
and throws you into the air.
You wince your eyes expecting to hit the cold ground but instead
you keep falling.
One day I hope reality barges into your blissful, ignorant slumber
and smirks at your frazzled words.
One day I hope reality chokes the life out of your spoiled, cynically dependent esophagus.
