when i call your name, i hope it sounds happy.
when i wake, i hope the sun be gold.
when i meet my maker, i hope my tears well and flow,
saturated with nothing but sweet conviction, relief, and joy.
i hope crimson red roses burst feverishly from where i'm lain,
and my virgin white dress be bloodied with pink petal stain.
i hope my chrysanthemum will, with maternal instinct abound,
circumscribe my peacefulness on the ground.
i hope ascend with otherworldly lightness.
i fill myself in wholesome till it tickle brim,
so that although my heart is irreconcilably broken,
it pour and pour goodness to atone for my sin.