There are the Pointed Fingers

All the fingers are pointing to me.
As I am the sinner. To whom I cry?
As the Saviour is looking at me.
And He is crying.
Looking at a girl.
Who is failed to please Him.
But He is not crying because He sad.
He is crying because He is the only one who love me so.
Crying because nobody love me as He is.

It is hard to be greatfull.
It is.
Everytime I want to raise from this death.
There are more pointed fingers.
I am tired.

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