dont try and wake me i died in my sleep

i just sort of feel like writing.

my mind races. i cant even find words to explain it. its constant, under my skin. dont tell me to "stop thinking" or "just leave", where does one go to escape your own thoughts? your thoughts are apart of who you are. an integral one. they hurt, they scrape, they dig deep and live inside of my soul with swallowed key. day in. day out.

she makes me feel dead. like a beaten pet or a zombie, convinced that nothingness is what i am. all the while she stands unwavering in her belief that she does nothing to bring me down. her tounge is like a raging fire that water could not begin to quench. she lashes out and the flames catch on to my skin, burning burning burning. theres nothing left. the heart has been smashed and gashed and sliced open to be filled with chars of guilt and lies to ruin a life given, a life taken away. with words she dug out a man's heart and left it there to rot. open, quivering, waiting for life... but it never came. unforgiving and alone, bitter and afraid to be human she paints on a face of "joy" and steps foot into the corroded streets she sees as gold. but its only emptiness that she finds. but the seething pain stays locked inside, never to be shown to another. but He sees. all of it. her options seem bare as she wanders empty vessel [human] to another, leaving cold shards of defeat in each one. forever to bare her seal - of loneliness. no white flag will she fly, but only fall. alone.

i'll ignore the calm it brings - the burning paper, the smoldering end, the rising gray cloud of self-pity and apathy. i wish not to break myself more with my never-ending list of excuses. where is He? You are right here, God. tears form behind these eyes that so long to see You, to know You, in a real way. and You are right there, ever-present, but my eyes fail to see You, my heart fails to reach for You. i want more, though. but i seem to fall short of being able to seek You and allow you to guide me. i wish i didn't have to make a choice. my God, save this wretched bit of nothing that i am from living without meaning. and save him. desiring, always, something more.