Psalms 6:1-7

Please, GOD, no more yelling, no more trips to the woodshed. Treat me nice for a change; I’m so starved for affection. Can’t you see I’m black-and-blue, beaten up badly in bones and soul? GOD, how long will it take for you to let up? Break in, GOD, and break up this fight; if you love me at all, get me out of here. I’m no good to you dead, am I? I can’t sing in your choir if I’m buried in some tomb! I’m tired of all this—so tired. My bed has been floating forty days and nights On the flood of my tears. My mattress is soaked, soggy with tears. The sockets of my eyes are black holes; nearly blind, I squint and grope.