Render Me unto Iron Wine

It has taken me a long time to get here, where I could reach out my hand and touch the water of this lake. Finally, after all the cards I have played my perfect hand has arrived; it is almost too easy to feel the water pulse between my bitter fingers. Again, it is almost too easy to itch away this lake’s deception. I can tell it is staring at me; the lake will not take its panicked reflection off my pupils, dilating, bloodshot, this is sleep deprivation. This water reeks of the scent of faucet iron. This lake never calms itself and relaxes its chopped waves. Even at the slight brush of my mint breath, it flees from my presence. Why do you leave me? I am alive, young, and in perfect health; my heartbeats and the tips of my fingers are warm. Why does not this lake hurry towards me, is it, because its pulse is cold? No wonder this lake has no breath, I can tell this is true; it is always running away from the air, trees, animals, and I. The red glimmer on top is only a front to hide its true inside of pure natural selection; you cannot use the sunset to deceive me. Underneath, fish are tearing this lake apart, ripping it to pieces and consuming its pure untouched fear. Try to hide this truth from me, I can see it, the carcass of its internal Darwinian struggle has been driven to this swollen shore. I did well, I uncovered your mess; this lake can no longer bury its lies. Why would you lie? Why would you lie? Why would you lie? Staring straight at the face of nature, why would you lie? I am not at fault here, the lake; it is always the lake that shines on top of all things. If only everyone could peer into the still darkness just below the water’s skin. One would think that after all the aged iron wine this lake has attempted to charm people with that others would exist whom could sympathize with me. Why would you lie? I am tired, tired of this lake. I am going home; this broken saint needs some OxyContin.