Faithful say you’re the sound,
That will save the wretched soul,
I’ve come to be.
But I’ve gotten my self lost,
In the forest of the dying souls,
And not once has this Grace,
Looked for me.
This is a short little poem I wrote as sat on the cement floor of my basement with a river of salty tears flowing down my face. This whole month has been quite a struggle. School has not been going well. On most days, I sit and in my lunch in a quiet empty classroom and most my teachers don’t seem to give a shit about the hell that has taken over my life. I have failed to get along with my family and continue to lash out at them for no reason at all and just last week I lost someone I lost loved dearly to congestive heart failure. This person was literally my adopted grandfather and he and his wife have helped me grow so much over the years. When I was in the hospital for my eating disorder they sent me the most caring cards I have ever laid my eyes on and they told me the most wonderful stories about all the historical events they lived through. Now my adopted grandfather is dead, just like my soul who passed away many years ago.