Many times I sit on my tarnished tear stained chair
Trying to figure out who is really here
I tried to paint a picture of how I actually feel
But I couldn't find the right colours to make it look real
Not one colour was vivid enough for me to see straight again
Not one trace of colour was bright enough to show my angonizing pain
Not one colour was deep enough to show you the wounds in my heart that I feel everyday
The only thing revealed on the never ending sheets of paper were..                                   
Teardrop stains
Never ending like my burning pain!
Nothing in this world can ever compare!!
To my teardrop stains
My picture of pain

She sits on her bed stiff and her body aching
Her daily pain arrives upon awaking
She struggles and fight to get out of her bed
It has only been seconds and the burning pain has already begun to spread
Spread like wild fire
Spread like a woman's desire
Single tears fall, this angonizing pain is rather extreme
A smile planted on her face even though on the inside she screams
Can't anyone see her sorrow and despair
No one believes her pain is really there
But she is a woman of great strength
A woman that protects her family so she would go to any length
She is voluptuous
Luminous
Mostly vivacious
Forever she will fight this pain until her death
This burning and excruciating pain until her last breath

There's so much I need you to hear,
But now when I look at your photographs
I gaze and stare,
Because you're not here.
You're there.
Up and away past the cumulonimbus clouds.
In a place where only the angels go;
A place with a vast population but no crowds.
A place where you walk on gold,
Live in mansions,
Never get old.
No racism, no religion,
No wars, no more scars,
No politics, no need for expensive cars.
A place where you do your gardening with stars;
Your footstool is Mars.
The sun I'm accustomed to isn't in your sky,
But I've been wondering-
Does heaven have WiFi?

I'm sorry for lying,
I'm sorry for trying to convince you I wasn't dying,
I'm sorry for letting my depression get so bad that my smiles blinded your eyes from mine to see I was crying.

Crying for peace.
Crying for silence.
Crying and wailing on the floor of my mind-dungeon trying to hide the marks of violence.

These scars on my soul tell a story,
These stars up above get the glory.

Because they listened as I poured my sorrows on them,
The dark sky eventually became my best friend,
The cold nights would wrapped me in their arms and then,
I'll become numb to fact that I'm near to my end.
I'm sorry again.

Then his wife said to him, “Do you still persist in your integrity?
Curse God, and die.”
— Job 2:9

Job was a rich man
who, in a trial of divine justice,
was dismantled of all he owned
by a fire that fell from heaven.
Sick and God-blinded, he repented.

But who speaks of his wife’s suffering?
Perhaps she was a woman who took great joy
in things and possessions and luxuries.
Perhaps she sat on heaps of soot,
itemizing the absolute sum of her loss,
calling out to God in argument, crying:

“In whom can I have faith
when the Giver takes that which is given?
And when the love of that
which is loved, and given, and taken,
is instilled in me by the Lover,
the Giver, the Taker?

“Now, I live for nothing.
I long for death, but it does not come.
And yet You have ensured
I survived to tell You this.”