ESCAPE ARTIST

I run away from my problems. I hide from them, seemingly protected by the glare of a screen showing me another life, another story - one that's not my own. How quickly I can divorce myself from the grips of reality, and cleave to the comforting embrace of elsewhere. Pages invite me in as well, just as song, slowly at first with distractions everywhere; but, soon I am gone once more, sheltered in a place that grants me solace, even if just for a moment.

As if in a bunker of my own creation, I pretend to guard myself against the troubles of the external. Allowing no admittance, wrapped up in myself, time passes without concern for a single soul. The thought of interacting with another human being crosses my mind like a piercing strike to the shin, planting an ache that will seemingly never heal. "Leave me alone," is the cry of my heart, while the need for attention defeats the agonizing call each and every time.

The simplicity of finding pain when attempting to escape it is an art I have mastered. What once was the drag, the swallow, the gulp of poison, is now the gluttonous pursuit of fare - And nothing ever satisfies - And everything always destroys. I hear the voices calling me late at night, convincing me that it will be the next one, not this one, but the next one, that will take it all away. Buried in my own lies, I look to point the finger when all the while the blame rests in but a single place.

I have always failed, and I'm fairly certain I always will. The success of my endeavors, my escapology, have always relied on phenomena beyond my simple skills. A constant pursuit of me results in my captivity with consistent assuredness. The same outcome is the only outcome deserving any appreciation. It is drenched in sophistication, wrought with preciseness, and handed to me with gentleness unsurpassed. And it is in my capture that I find deliverance.