Wounded heart cain

I hold this yoke this bond to my waste, whilst the inner most parts of me cry out to God fort the healing I was so accustom too. But all that's amidst my core is desolation for the voice that crus out does so as a jackal intent on blasphemy and eternal blood. So many strings remain uncut but I will walk the dry road to repentance till God says "it is well with you" I seek the refuge of one whom carries the spirits of murder and envy, and with all destiny and misfortune I may find such a place

Theta minus alpha of desolation