Saturday, November 7, 2020

Poison courses through me, thoughts of resentment and revenge. I sit atop a heap of imagine foes and dodge spears made of mist. What is worse, the weapons I wield are aimed inward.

I battle in my sleep, only to discover twisted sheets in the morning.

Awaken me, Lord, and let me see clearly. You have been holding me in your lap all along.

(Letter #2,128)