i'm lost and everyone around me

seems like a stranger in disguise.

the ones i love are here, but not here,

and i'm more alone

than the ever darkening pit of black

that i thought i came out of..

And in the midst of my pain,
in the midst of my struggles,
you were constant.
When the world was spinning so fast I couldn't keep up,
when the burdens were burying me alive,
I could look to you and you were still.
You calmed the turmoil,
you stilled the seas.
You were the tree in the hurricane that never got uprooted.
You were the hand that pulled my up from the pit of sinking and of life.
You are the hand that holds mine and keeps me from falling when I slip.

it stains the very inner of her being
crimson.
crimson with the guilt
and shame
and the unbearable weight
of loving without limits,
to the point of
a threadbare soul
worn with the
constant weight of giving.

sitting in bed,
thinking about life,
nothing to do but
     s
       i
         t
           with a knife,
till my
   b
     l
       o
         o
           d
             drains  o
                            u
                               t,
like the draining of a sink,
and it will soon
     r
       u
         n
           clear,
and I will very too soon
     s
       i
         n
           k,
sink into the ground where I once arose,
now I'll lie
     d
       o
         w
            n
               forever inclosed,
with my secrets trapped with me inside,
forever until I eternally
     a
       b
         i
           d
             e
               .

and He drew her up
in His mind like a
wild fascination
that was yet to happen.
a soul with a purpose
so big it would
shake mountains
if she chose Him. and
He saw every winding
detour, every tear filled
starry night, every beautiful
heartbreak. silently
holding her hand
amidst the tides.
He dreamed of helping
her through this
labyrinth of a life.
hand in hand,
step in step.
she would be His, and
that's all He ever wanted.
so He molded every piece
of her hurricane heart.
and carefully sewed together
her love for the torn.
and He built her up so she could
be a safe place for the wanderers.
and breathed out every
whirlwind of passion
within her.
all in hopes of her becoming
what He hoped she would.
and she was.

why always in this place?
where "goodnights" have ceased to exist
by the mere assumption that we are too old,
or that muttering it would mean
we meant it,
and that would be to real
in these walls.
walls that hold an unspoken
agreement to never be in depth,
never to hold a real
conversation in it's midst.
a place where there are walls,
that have turned into
kingdoms of secrecy.
all consumed by a lie,
a narcotic idea that this place
is just for surviving.
that is place is a house,
not a home.

and then
   i
    began to
    f
  a
l
l
.
and it was slowly
so no one would notice.
a slow uninterrupted fall
into an ever darkening pit.
and because no one saw, no one was there
to catch me when i took that last step.
but space was still and peaceful.
i fell slowly and wasn't scared.
it became more and more black
but it was comforting.
the blackness, that became my friend,
was always there for me,
as i
f
  e
    l
      l