Psalm 6—Why did you let this ruin root itself and gnash me to bone?

Don’t press me any harder.
I am scraped low, slung out, 
And strung hard between bitten hours
And bent, bated minutes.
I haunt from room to room.
People pat me on the shoulder
And don’t know what to say.
How long with this last?
I’m not going to make it.

But if you love me, save me. 
Stop me. Carry me. Rattle me down 
And meet me on the long way round.
No one will remember you in the dust of death.
And don’t you want my praises?
Didn’t you want to glory inside me?
Why did you let this ruin root itself
And gnash me to bone?

If I had sails, I could ride my bed
On the water of my tears.
All my thoughts are salted white
And grief runs in me like floodwater.

Why do fears fountain so full, but grace
Rises slowly, wears disguises,
And turns on such small hinges?
God, heave to heaven and throw me over.
Take my prayers to your chest. 
Send me peace in volleys.
Fold my troubles in on themselves
And leave me standing.

Psalms: 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 38, 39, 40, 43, 47, 54, 61, 63, 66, 70.

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Photo by Robert Zunikoff on Unsplash