Slave.

Addiction, the affliction we embrace. Drowning in more, yet never full, we consume the poison.

Freedom from the substance, freedom from the porn, is what we yearn, yet ever embrace our shackles.

Numbing ecstasy, this misery. Bound by this high, damaged by this drink.

Party or prison, this prism through which we peer.

Addiction, this affliction, for which we ever yearn. We burn, burn out, and repeat the syndrome.

No end in sight, all is night, an endless cycle down.

Yes, dirt and sand is all this land, as we thirst for peace and joy. An empty well is where we dwell, no thirst is quenched below.

But as I gaze upon Your grave, where for me You bled, my shackles brake and to You take rest from all this hell. Slave to sin, never again; You my Master alone.

Yet why do I embrace this noose that holds me?

Lord, why do I run to a whore when I know all she has in store for me is death?

I see the light, the joy, and close my eyes, and turn away.

Why don’t I stay?

I run to the slaughter but You’ve prepared a feast. I slit my wrist, when for me You bled.

O’ the misery that is me, when I turn away.

Why don’t I stay?

You quench my thirst, all else is empty wells.

Why swallow up this gravel, when You have abounding streams?

O’ the misery that is me, apart from You.