Escapism

I remove my glasses to blur my view, of my disgraceful face, that’s painted a strange hue. Reality peers back at me, from the bottomless shallow mirror, My self peers back at me, with disbelief, regret and horror. I remove my glasses so that I cannot see, that which I’m not and that which I’ve wanted to be. I close my eyes, so I’m now in a trance, of an alternate universe, a new theme, a new life, a new romance. I remove my glasses and put them aside, and think back to better times, waiting for my pain to subside. But as I shuffle through my memories, relief - I cannot seem to get, because the past is filled with insurmountable regret. I remove my glasses and put them in their case and reminiscence about my beliefs, the dreams I used to chase. But all this sorting reveals only mistakes, mistakes, mistakes, mistakes Oh, so many mistakes… I remove my glasses because it’s time to sleep, I wrench today’s goals from the thought bubble, and discard them into the unachieved heap. As I sink to the bottom of the bed at the end of the day I've fought, I plummet into the depths of my innermost thought, that preaches ‘useless’, ‘ worthless’, ‘hate’ that preaches ‘loser', ‘ugly’, ‘ late’ that dictates my action and my inaction, that dictates my speech and my silence. And as I lose myself to the seduction of rest, I try to revive in me, an anticipation for the morrow - a dying and hopeless, bedridden zest. The sun will bring with it, a new day, the day will begin coffee, sticky notes, in the same old unaccomplishing way. I will remove my glasses to blur my view, I will remove my glasses to disillusion myself, I will remove my glasses to remove myself to a new fantasy, a new retreat, a new game. I will remove my glasses to feed my escapism, and let the footsteps of my desires lead me into a new daydream, of wonder, success and fame. But still, I can hope. And still, I will hope, that the morrow is not barren of new opportunities. But still, I can pray. And still, I will pray, that the morning air instils a new confidence, in me, as, from my lucid dreams, I wake, in me, who limps behind the forerunners of the race. For there is life to be loved, and life to be lived, and mine is a future in the making, a future to face.