Please
Won't lift a finger
yet raise his voice still
can't be the one to say
that this is pointless

to be
atrophied
over me
and still remain
the faintest memory

please

don't point the finger
just hear him out
can't be in crowded rooms
and singled out

please
give me rest
ammunition
to end my past
of inanition
don't let me remain
atrophied
over being me
to feel the pain
the faintest memory
of me

the sediment has been my friend
the junkie that cannot win
the moment that will not end
the prison
the cell within



I don't know where this came from. It was spontaneous but it felt like someone was speaking to me these words and showing me the mirror... my limbs are atrophied from settling for cheap highs. Spiritual highs. Walking only when it's the trend... or when I'm wheeled out of my bed. I lock myself in sin and in a constant cycle of crawling, bawling, repenting, and falling... I want to just walk with God and not waver between two opinions. I wrote this after watching The Basketball Diaries. It jumped out and slapped me like a baby who won't breathe... It hit me and I choked!! I don't need rest! The reason I get so tired is cause I settle for less. I walk with Jesus 7-days a year. I pick up my cross and throw it, so I can enjoy my sins and catch up on God when I'm needed again. I must sound like a total hypocrite to you who know me personally, when I lead you astray with me and repent the next day. Then I fall right back down. I'm tired of being tired. His Spirit's about to move, and I don't want to be left behind because I've grieved Him and missed out on Him using me in my lifetime. The "sediment has been my friend." The things I've settled for have held my hand like a drug dealer, only so much as I feed their income. You know what I mean? I want the hell out of this skin for a day to feel what godliness ... true godliness feels like. Comfort. Contentment. Rest in His peaceful assurance. If you hear me, pick me up, I beg you. I'm walking with Him today, but I'm already beginning to shake in the legs. My knees are buckling. I beg you...stop me from compromising in the faith. This poem's partially in third person, then in first person, because it's me...yet I'm looking at me from inside and outside cause I'm alien. Col. 1:21-22, however...