A Lot of Hurt

Lord, I cry out to you when I am in a lot of hurt though most wounds are self-inflicted.  My own wayward thoughts impale me to crosses that are not meant for immolations but for punishments that stultify my own liberation.  Hence, I am bound and immobile, pained from invisible wounds that cut me to the core.  

Why do I cleave to such absurdities then run to you to bind my wounds with soothing salve?  Even when your law is etched within my heart I turn away insisting on freedom and self-determination, willing my own actions with futile strength and veering to my own slow demise.

I die not with one fell swoop in this lifetime but from a thousand cuts that I myself pierced without mercy returning to you a broken empty vessel seeking your forgiveness and redemption.