Just like that, truth fades slowly into the darkest hour this heart has ever counted. It's not just a lack of light that rusts this heart into lackluster. It's a complete void of substance and substantial movement in a direction that matters enough to be mapped out. A wandering journey into nowhere that ends near its beginning and threatens to start all over again. I'm doing everything for me, a purpose that lacks purpose, a worthless piece of worthiness. I desire without even knowing what it is that I want. Who even knows what I need? Because its certainly not me, or else I'd be somewhere nearer to completion, instead of so far away from wholeness, holiness. I'm going to make this right. I'm going to make this good. I swear it up and down, left and right. But I can't even stand up straight or figure out where to head. A heart that is dead