The Real It Kills

So this guise is wise
a still look stole I pry.
To you I will not lie
I tried take my life.

The Lord knows he
saw me thrashing in bed
and the angel of death
almost split my head.

I savor the scar turns
me into a man who burns
alive so I live in spurn
until I meet the Lord I return.

What will the answer be?
Lord I question and plead
that in me your seed bleeds
but I have staved off the steeds.

Christ Savior who above I
live and cry in my diatribes
what scholars nor scribes
would attempt in their lives.

Lead me to my end sweep
this door that saw the street
at his feet for years of sleep
lost trying to hope keep.

I’ll still this pill to try kill;
all the beautiful thrills
that keep me soft that steal
all pain at my heels is real.

Prayers Love Lord,


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