My heart has a propensity to propel me into perpetual situations,
and then, when I’m left bleeding, it blames me for my misery.
But, I aid in its allowance, accepting less than what I merit.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but it’s the truth; I’m lonely.
So, with remorse before regret, I do what’s better left unsaid.
Not withholding that it heaves me from my source of energy:
my daily bread, my living water.

Embarrassed, I bow my head,
knowing I’ve befriended death—
it constantly draws me until I give in
and then rewards me with the clause, I told you so,
Wrestling with my mind while spearing my soul.

Sensing you sense my stench of guilt.
I beseech you to repair what I willingly damaged.
Being honest: I pray a prayer that only You can manage.