Scars

I think I cried last night
Smoking and bleeding alone in my room.
The cuts on my arm, which I know I deserve, silently remain
The comforting calm continues its pointless fight.

I am a foetus, protected in God's womb
Made to develop and grow.
I change, I reach, I grow, and so, and so
Why am I so low, so far beneath?
Like a thief, I take in all His love, and yet
I cannot rise as others do
To be with Him and know Him.
I try, but I am weak,
Stricken by humanity's disease.
God knows, I deserve these.