Unprepared; the world says I have to want to be.
Haven’t the angels seen my desperate screams?
God, put me to sleep,
Forget my promises you keep
If I could only cleanse or clip away the wrong in me
Chain and whip the numb and all excesses I perceive
But selfish me, lazy me, so lazy I’ve stopped eating
In a horrid, bloody daze where I fearfully envision
That my guilt ridden cuts could never be made deep enough
There are new wounds for each day my death
Runs over due.
This is a summary I guess, of the last two or three major entries here I’ve made. The running thoughts, and blank numb moments I am trying to make sense of right now.