My words are thrown like stones hitting a wall. They penetrate nothing. They fall to the ground in a pile of rubble. Not even the dust is able to rise around them.

Why do I continue to reach for another stone? Why can I not be released back into the lake of complacency where I was first ensnared? Why must the words be pulled like a child being ripped from a mother's womb? They breathe life and then they must be nursed. They are imperfect. They are demanding. They will ultimately control me.

Have mercy on me. I live in the abyss of mediocrity. This I know. And this I cannot endure.

I reach for another lovely stone...

Saturday, April 10, 2010


I cannot move. I seem comfortable in my warm and sleek bed, the covers loosely thrown across the silken pajamas, white sheets framing the freshly brushed dark hair, the arm crooked awkwardly above my head as if I am protecting myself from unseen blows. But I cannot move.

I cannot open my eyes. Even if I could, I know I would see nothing in the dark room. I would see nothing if there was light. It would be the same either way. Because I am blind to what surrounds me. There is only what is inside. I can see that. I writhe and scream inside there, but it does not matter. The inside is what paralyzes.

I see my sin crawling through every vein, taunting and cajoling me. My sin terrifies me. Its evil laugh drowns out the small, desperate prayers that attempt an escape with each gasp of air. Its sharp claws slice through the packed matter and I begin to bleed. Again. Unhealed scars from long ago rip open slowly but methodically. The pain is almost unbearable.

I can still cry. There is always that.

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