Contrite

I'm supposed to sleep now right, how? One single stone of irrefutably inferior quality built into anything worthy will destroy the entire entity.
Thus the feeling of humility casts immediately its necessity upon me.
Strength and weakness trade places and righteousness becomes iniquity, as Anger in its fury destroys in seconds any everlasting beauty,
 that ever had a chance to be. The contrasting images I see are like slow motion as the hope and dream are distant having been dashed in just an instant.
 What else is there left to feel,
Aware only, that this is real, contrite is right.
Remorse,  of course but what of bliss,  gone the vestiges of harmony,  stop stop, here an excuse,  an explanation I can use, to define such as  abuse,
 say what, are you kidding me,  such is not the way that it can be, no, this which is is within me,  the why therefore is not a plea, innocent because I have the right to feel this way,
 that is not what I would say, and no it is not ok. What is the source of this contrite spirit which dwells here now,  consider it's opponent, it's polar opposite and how  Pride on one side seems to rise above
 even the strongest love, love is not strong because of pride, nor should such feelings be inside of anything worth being in, pride is sin and will not win if contrition can begin.
A conscience thought a feeling wrought with such emotion rarely sought,  wrings its might upon my heart, it's there the healing has to start, what a fool what an ass am I, to have even cast an eye at thinking it would slide on by,
such torment I begin to cry.
So unworthy so unjust gone the faith, away with trust, just an instant all it takes to cause such pain that a heart breaks, How could such be the who in me,
 what was it that I didn't see, can there ever be, forgiveness in your heart for me? Of such I ask, of that I pray, somehow some way to find sufficient words to say,
 I'm sorry how I was today...