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.
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