it's morning again in the middle of the night and I'm two paragraphs into this fight.
My body is screaming that it's too late; I can only collapse now.
I'm tired of being tired and sick of being sick, a downward spiral of self-destruction.
I've lost myself, so where are you? Aren't you coming soon to save me?
Is there a place for me in all of this? Surely you haven't gone.
At every turn, I fall -- I can't get this right. You've called me and I know it...somewhere.
Do the leaves have this much trouble living and praising?
The pictures my words paint die like the desert, but you created life there between two rivers.
Where are they? Surely you are here.
In my tears I gasp your name. Do you hear me now?
Can you be enough to make up for what I'm not?
I have nothing left to offer, nothing to offer.
Will you be everything?