Ørkesløs

The flow from one day to the next,
Casting thoughts and hopes,
To be cast away in turn,
Upon the endless slopes.

Who can think,
With the days that pass.
Of anything that matters,
Of anything that lasts.

Words spoken,
Coming from mouths unheard.
I walk by everyday,
My soul cold and spurned.

I long for the simple,
The truth, the surrender.
I deny myself my voice,
For another's splendor.

Images have to be kept,
Reputations maintained,
But who thinks of themselves,
Locked and restrained?

A prison in not saying,
What needs to be said,
A prison of my own mind,
A sin that aches to be fed.

I await a time where,
I can hand myself the key,
Clutched tightly in my own hand,
Not willing to hand it to me.

The restraints I have,
Are not the one's I crave,
They bound me years ago,
To the one my heart I gave.

That heart is dead,
And the strings broken.
Replaced by chains,
Leaving my hopes unspoken.

And so I walk on,
Keeping a mindless pace.
Until night comes,
And I can finally show my face.

Until I can cloak myself,
In any veil needed.
To not hurt anymore,
To not be so defeated.

What I want is simple,
And what I do more so.
I undress, I impress,
I become faux.

But real it is not,
A plaster for an old cut.
Day in and day out,
Writing all this smut.

All I know,
After all these years.
My fingers work well,
My stress disappears.

So their sweet trick they'll do,
After every sundown,
Until I can find a better way,
To not drown.