Sitting in quiet desperation,
wanting to be able to talk - finding that I cannot.
Insides turning over - flipping out, because of stress,
being tuned in to a past that fills me with fearful dread.
Knowing that to talk is best, I find I cannot do it even
though it would lay to rest all memories of yesterday.
Living in a secret hell, wanting to get through it all,
but never tell a soul about it.
Sitting here in quiet desperation, filling my soul with
prayers - unanswered. Hopes unfulfilled.
Crying deep inside, afraid to get angry and yell four-
Afraid that I will go to hell, because of what I might
Knowing all along the hell I'm living is the worst kind.
Sitting in quiet desperation, praying and letting myself
go to God.