poem | 10 October 2023

I am sick, growing sicker.

Hope has only left me bitter,

though she strung me along

for awhile.

In truth I am disgusted with myself –

the self-pity, the shame.

I built this hell,

and have no one to blame.

So I blame God

because He hasn’t stopped me yet.

I kick rocks –

I kick them and kick them and

smash and dash my soul to pieces,

all the while crying ‘where are You?’

My masochistic mutilation masks my longing.

I toss myself to the swine

so He will come find me.

Why do I need Him to prove that He loves me?

Why must I test Him so?

I don’t know.

I just don’t know.

I am sick, growing sicker,

but while Hope remains I’ll find some comfort with her.