Darkest of Dark

Oh life, oh weird days, I cannot help but moan, 

It's hard to face and realize that I am left alone.

The days tick by, with breath and life, 

But I am sick with mental strife.

I am not sure when this will end, 

    or if it ever will. 

I hope to stay just on the edge, 

Of this fatal blackened pill.

To live with aching, know the holy, 

To know God's love in the melancholy...

But am I only saying the words, 

Is my soul screaming, incensed?

Are my habits saying the exact opposite

    of my bullshit God-talk nonsense?

I am lost for now and I know, I know

This isn't easy, timely or bright.

But sacred and suffering go hand in hand

in my darkest of dark lonely nights.