Dear God,
I'm sorry for my wrongdoings. I fail again and again. Well, there's a part of me that's sorry, and there's a part of me that's not. But you know.
                                      You know every part.
You lurk on me like the shadows of the vultures as I sit here. This plateau gives way to the crumbling rock of a steep abyss leading to nowhere. A place wild; cruel; punishing.

Maybe it's not for humans. Maybe all this is not what you wanted.

I sit here on this flat plane of earth—sometimes in the center,
and sometimes teetering on the edge of the abyss, with tufts of dust wafting up from my legs as I sit down, like angels fluttering, yelling from a silent world,
Warning me away from here.
There are no war cries or flinging catapults. No horses screeching in pain. No iron weapons orbiting towards my skull.
Only the arid desert wind across my lips. So light, yet so heavy.
Augmenting the silence.
enveloping my solitary physical mold.
Highlighting the emptiness.
There's an entangled sense--
Sorrowful emptiness and peace. It hangs like an electrical charge. unbalanced.
My head hangs, eyes projected towards a pair of tan leather boots on a pair of feet that happen to be mine. The wind blows. My eyelids shut, feeling the sting of salt and soil.
My heart gives in like an imploding star, and the remains cave inward. Deep into the abyss
between my ribs. Deep into the warmth of the body that was once mine. I fold in on myself, and now rest.