Escape

I want to kiss the land that bore the trees, the cataclysm of life and the cobwebs in between

i want nothing more than to run to the seaside and beg of the silence to absolve me

not my troubles, aspirations or worries , but me.

I want to push my leaden feet to the pedal and push until i meet my maker

I want to press my thumbs into the golden band that winds itself around the ice caps when no one is looking

i want to breathe so brokenly into an instrument that no sound escapes the mouthpiece

i want to run and run and run and run until i find some semblance of home , even if i haven’t met home yet

i want to find it .

i want to leave, i just want to bypass the instrumental nature of my face

i want to escape the prospect of destiny , outrun it if you will

cut a trail through the grass leaving brambling branches and sticky breath in my wake

Does escape even want me?

Does the concept of melting into the landscape that i incessantly place my worth upon even want me?

How do i even leave?

Is true,true,true escape even feasible?

Will i be stuck in the crosshairs of my remains past my expiration date?

Am i escape?

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