Restless.

Wires fray beneath skin.

The night hums

a hot Texas breath,

no breeze, no balm.

Wilderness without end.

Not sand,

but silence.

Not stars,

but static.

I walk.

Mana clings to the teeth,

barely enough.

Locusts hum at the edges.

I learn

(not quickly)

to call Your name

before the collapse.

Lord Jesus.

Not a spell,

but a signal

through dust and doubt.

Thirst wraps the bones.

Is this discipline?

Or consequence?

Did I build this drought

with my own hands?

Or did You lead me here

with fire and shadow?

I fear

not just the end,

but the feeling of fear,

the shape it takes

in the presence of the Father.

I ache to please You.

I ache to stop aching.

I seek

comfort,

blessing,

a glimpse of water

beneath the heat-mirage of purpose.

Trapped in this dry loop

no map,

no voice,

just a pulsing question

and brittle prayers

half-whispered into sky.

I am thirsty.

I am learning.

I am not yet lost.

But still,

the desert holds me.