You can't separate
the actor from the character
they're not mutually exclusive
but brutally intrusive.

We put a little bit of ourselves
into the roles that we act
extracts of our souls
dripping out
slowly bleeding our hearts dry
from acting out our parts

Pouring everything
into faux characters
to engage with our rage
while onstage
unknowingly
constructing our own cage

We think no-one can see
the lies we tell
when we wear our masks
but our eyes betray us
with irises on fire
arises our desire
from the words we yell

Burning eyes behind stone masks
that shows them our hell

These days,
I find myself searching
for gentle streams
that once flowed in my dreams
but have since dried up.
The reservoir empty of freshness.

Doesn't stop me walking
along the dead riverbeds
and listing to the water.
Can't be much farther
til I find a new source.
I don't want
to force anything
but merely seek the return of life

Maybe Robin will return
to me
and we can continue our chats
by the banks of the river.
I was never a diver
but a giver,
which I suppose
is the same.
Plunging myself into something
and giving it all I got.

Never truly
an altruistic act
as I secretly and selfishly
wanted to be noticed.
Even the acoustic comments
would suffice.
Is that wrong?
Or
Are we all rolling the same dice?
it's nice to receive praise
but if you're raised
to only want that
then maybe that's not healthy
I suppose
we should be wealthy
in the acknowledgment
of the ones that truly care
than to the
faint praise of strangers

That's where the danger lies
picking the lather.
Better to climb the ladder
one step at a time
in company
than great leaps alone.

But I digest.
I've stumbled off the path
with this talk of ladders.
Lost in myself
once again.
That's the cost of being a wanderer
Hard to navigate
through a sea of trees,
all ivy covered.
Who knows what
lively monsters have hovered
where I stood.
How many times have I been
hoodwinked in thinking
I'm alone?
Each blink of an eye
and I'm sure they run by me
lurking away
hidden from sight

They can stay there
for all I care.
Tonight isn't about
looking for a fight
but a river.

Impossible
to think straight without it.
It was my anchor
held me down
and           stopped            me
flowing away in a stream
of consciousness
lost forever
in
meaninglessness

Oh River, why have you dried up?
Why have you died?
I need you now
but
you are not here
to wash my tears away,
to clean me of doubt
or take away my fears.
I miss your fresh
cleansing waters
often felt on flesh.

Water was the elixir
to heal.
And to peal skin,
reveal my real sin,
so I may feel.
But
This elicited elixir
is no more.
A closed door
so we remain poor

Oh River, why have you left me?

Sway of a tree, rope hanging down.
Swing, crack, swing, feet graze the ground.
Scruffy old shoes, laces like the rope,
If only you had known that you still had so much hope

Pill Popper, made you feel.
You needed someone to know that this pain was real

Swing, crack, swing, go the branches above you
They called out with the wind and begged you not to
Mutated in the brain, lay the mangled secret
And it whispered to you softly *Keep it, keep it, keep it.

Detox yourself of impurities.
Box away those
pretty poisons polluting your soul.
Matcha tea will only help so much.
Matching the gentle touch
once felt
but have since melted away.
Got to deal with the cards
that have been dealt today
But what if,
I am less than an ace?
What if,
I am dead?
Then I am nothing.
Or
is that just
the toxic thoughts talking?
It's hard to tell these days.