Why Do I Stay?

Just took a couple of minutes to write a poem.

You could say I destroyed,
but then you'd only know half.

The words, they came and struck,
but oh, how they've stayed.
You could say that I died,
but I had to have been resurrected.
My light shining brighter,
and not reflecting off the glass this time.
Not blinding my way,
so instead I decide to lay.
I wait and see to it that death,
no longer is an enemy,
no longer is a threat.
It's a luxury itself.

But, oh, why do I stay?
I sit and suffer.
As I watch, I wish.
And oh man, I don't pray.