lent, week 2: bad.

If you twist and turn away
If you tear yourself in two again

I wonder sometimes if I’m addicted to
sadness, to worry, to angst.
It feels safer because pursuing joy
sometimes seems like chasing after
the wind, all the while I don’t understand
that the wind chases after me.

If I could, you know I would
If I could I would let it go
Surrender, dislocate

As Taylor said, depression too is a kind of fire,
the one that lights up the spoon
that fills the needle that I inject straight to my heart,
the one that will eventually kill me unless
I can get clean, the one that
will set my whole house ablaze when I’m not paying attention.

So let it go and so not fade away
Let it go and so not fade away

I need You to pry open my fists,
and open up my windows to
the fire of the morning star that burns brighter
than my smoldering wick
Let me be able to love the ones whose sorrow
burns down their houses
without torching my own into oblivion

I’m wide awake
I’m not sleeping

Because You were set aflame
by all our shame and sin and suffering
so that You can take all these charred bones
and bring them to life again.

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lent, week 2: bad.

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