i stopped at a green light last nightto listen to the cold static on the radio.i wanted to be alone;i wanted to strain out every thoughtfrom my restless mindand feel empty.
existing is exhausting.the feeling of taking up too much spacecrashes like an unexpected visitor,and the emotion settles in comfortably,as if i’m a guest in my own home.“goddamn it, i need some peace.”
i watched the light turned yellow, then red. the clock turned to midnight. i pressed the gas pedal. i always worsen things when told to stop,but i need to return back home.
this poem is titled “the art of escapism” for two reasons: escaping the real world and escaping the mind. escaping the real world is a feeling that the narrator has because as it was phrased, “existing is exhausting.”
“i always worsen things when told to stop,” is comparative to this, because the narrator as this point has gotten so deep in thought that it is becoming too intrusive and too dangerous.
it’s become too dangerous for him to exist there, and as a result, he needs to go back home.
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