Flailing sorrows, empty words
Swarming over me in hordes
Will this torture never cease?
I am lost; I can't find peace.
Taking painful remedies
That only strengthen the disease
I kill myself; and yet I claim
That I am not the one to blame.
Pointing fingers; ruined lives
All the while my sickness thrives
To break me down, delude, enslave
Until I meet an early grave.
This lie that cuts straight to the heart
This burden has become an art.
I am an expert at this life
Of death and war, of pain and strife.
Where is hope among my being?
...is this mercy that I'm
seeing,
Wondrous love outpouring here
Consuming me; it draws me near
And I find rest: At last! At last!
...So now my former Self is past.
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