We escape into the tube,
into the flicks,
into our earphones,
into our books.
Hell, I’m escaping as I’m writing this.
But the voices of the secret whisper within-
always come around-
come sneaking back in-
come to the front-
and face us down.
And as that awful soul-freezing moment
is about to pin us quickly down,
we race like our lives depend on it.
We run for the computers and the phones and the toys,
for the bottle, the joint, the lines, the pipe, or the needle.
We run inside to places no one else goes.
Making our escapes we use up our lives.