String Cut Dive

Every morning I wake
wishing to wake
from the nightmare
I cannot forsake.

A loss for words
for words of loss,
blurring a line
I cannot cross.

A troubled mind,
a troubled heart,
a troubled lack
that will not part.

Stuck in wrong,
wanting right,
knowing not
what rest is like.

Losing ground,
no ground to lose,
only the worse
fates to choose.

To be forsaken
in despair,
in this wake,
in nightmare.

Deliver me
from worthless joy,
a puppet’s strings,
my body a toy.

The poison roots
planted in
desire solace
within sin.

An upside down
suffering show;
if Hell is up,
then God is below.

In Heaven’s bosom
and happy frown,
send me there,
send me down.

Falling fast,
falling free,
live or die
to no longer be.