squishy

Lord, I feel soo Stretched, drained and empty When I try pouring my water into cups It's a pouring of new wine into old wine skins You can change the design, mould or coaster But the pattern remains, It doesn't hold Why must I claw at imagination with the tips of my nails I've rendered enough But I fear I gave myself away so unrestrained Because why does it hurt to be soft And have human emotions And God-given desires I continue to keep pure and untainted Yet cleanliness is rewarded with dissatisfaction And emotions are cruel to such purity Love is obscene in a land of sin I wonder, is the pretence practiced? One, two, many ‘let downs’ to count Such that counting feels like the greater evil Is it really my job to seek and find, Then know and yield, I'm tired, this pursuit has left me panting There's only so much my heart can withstand Chasing humans is an apparent dulling of a weight created to saturate If this gift is real, then I'll let it reveal itself I know someday, I'll cushion the love that God has made