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Unwound
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Personal (Hope) Sometimes the stresses of life
and my rising anxieties
weigh heavy on my heart.
And I want some relief,
an end to this pain.
I've become so selfish,
seeking comfort
from my own hands.
And when satisfaction comes,
it lasts for mere seconds.
Then I'm back where I started;
the wounds aren't healed.
I do the things I hate,
because there is
brokenness in me.
My fingers are stained red;
the shame brings me to tears.
There is more to this habit;
the rash is deeper than the skin.
My soul has an infection,
a cancer called sin
that makes me do such things.
However there is hope
for a happiness outside of me.
I find solace in you,
the kind that doesn't fade
as the night falls.
