A Writer's Escape

My escape similar to heroin or sharp whiskey. Almost like the stinging kiss of a razor blade. different though, in the manner of it isn't going to hurt me in the way those other things would. I will not have scars from my escape. No needle marks on the pale skin on my arms, no headache from the Wild Turkey, and no flaking scabs on my thighs. When I escape, I fly. And when I land, there's dry ink on my pinky, and the air smells of ballpoint pen.