The waves of loneliness continue to crash onto the shore of despair. The only company I have is the sounds of my cries echoing off the wall. A desperate plea to God as I bow on my knees. "Save me please" I cry. "But child you have been saved for you Declared your love for me." Yet I am here on my knees defeated. For I feel empty and incomplete. So I keep looking in the dark hoping for someone to see me. Please God, let someone see me. But how can anyone see me if I refuse to turn on the lights. I move to flick the switch but My arm freezes. Suspended in time. For every time I've turned it on, someone goes out of their way to break it. To shatter the light that I have created. For the end of life is death. And the light always dies. Even I have put out my own light. Perhaps it shone so bright it would blind me. Making me unable to see that the one in front of me was one he gave me. Sometimes my light turns into a flame. And it pops and sizzles and burns. And like a moth I can't get away from this flame that resides inside me. It bubbles and blisters, boiling my insides like a pot of water. The flame burns hotter, and I boil over. Making a mess from something that was fine that I thought broke. And unlike a broken vase I can't tape or glue things back together. I am my own storm from which I can not hide. I can always count on lightning to strike. There's a storm brewing, and I can not hide.