It’s disturbing how undeserving I am of your love.  I’m fervently flirting with the servants who service serpents as I feel the burning burden of turning my affection from you toward lurking desires dirtier than vermins.  I surface from surfing in the depths of their shallowness hurting and searching for your love that never leaves me yearning.  During my return I rehearse how I will reverse my behavior.  Knowing full well I will revert back to my treachery of a traitor as I try to trade the remainder of your forgiveness for sensory treasures that distort my every memory of your compassion and grace.  So, as I live out my memoir, I’m perpetually perplexed by the repertoire of your redemption and your endless reservoir of relentless love.  I continually soak our relationship in sewage, yet you continue to pursue to soothe me. You welcome me back with open arms that open me to be armed with the armour of vulnerability as you cleanse my filth with mercy filled embraces distilled of any bitterness.  Yet I still live a vigorous life of selfishness as you commit to a rigorous life of sacrifice.  I respond to the kindness of your compliments with indifference and belligerent slander over all your interests.  I’m so calloused to being cared for that I return your chalice of blessings with nervous curses.  And as our souls connect like cursive I throw up a curtain of insults to keep your faithfulness from changing my cheating heart.  I can’t handle the way you unabashedly profess pride and honor in me as ponder the way I bash you and wander around embarrassed to know you and offer shame for your name.  How do you ooze mercy and grace in a relationship where I always choose to blame and accuse?  The purity and perfection of your love is such a surety of security but my immaturity treats it as an obscurity because the only currency you desire in return is my beat up heart so you can make it beat again.