I am hopped on it,
Middle of the night for it,
Choosing it,
You know, the floor,
To sleep, to sit,
To remember all the regret
That used to sleep with me,
That fear that so easily ensnared me,
How I used to fear the Holy,
How it could never get me in the right place.
Now I want you still,
And I need you too,
And I am unsure that it will ever last,
Your stones are rolled away,
They are given away,
This isn’t the one time fix it
Service,
The pulpit is the culprit,
And you can’t escape it,
I am hopped up on your sugar,
And I need the cidar,
I need the words you got,
Sweetly discouraging,
I don’t see your comfort
In these pages,
They to are fading away.
THE RUCKUS JOURNAL 
Yep, been there. Comfort will come. Just keep breathing.