The Art of Escaping

Someone told me to help.

Ten pieces of advice.

But escaping,

you don’t need advice.

You just do it.

The pain gets so bad

it just happens.

I lay back

complete silence.

Quietly, let the tears fall.

Tell yourself to breathe.

Stare at something blank.

The ceiling.

Focus.

Suddenly there’s a noise.

And it’s 5, 6, 7, 11 hours later.

The longest I have ever been gone is 17 hours.

It’s not sleeping.

You’re exhausted when you wake.

But its not waking up.

It’s coming back.

From the empty hole 

of my mind.

Milky Way Galaxy

Blackness with white specks.

Can silence be a sound, or is the sound of absolutely nothing at all, not even wind, or the night crickets, possible?

I feel lightweight and frozen, as if everything that ever existed is gone.

Time doesn’t matter, nor does the weather, because neither exist.

Planets and stars are everywhere, no human soul exists other than my own.

The planets move slowly and the stars expand over a large amount of time, making me feel old and timeless.

It’s lonely and cold, yet at the same time, breathtakingly beautiful.

Theater

A large screen is lowered before me as I rest my feet on the bar in front of my seat.

A last few words are spoken to people’s companions, deciding if the commercial was worthwhile, and the sounds of slurping and opening of packages echoing around the room.

It feels cold and dark, as if the late night had closed in, even though it was day.

I took in a breath, almost able to taste the atmosphere of popcorn and tapping sneakers.

Couples, friends, and family’s all sat in groups, anxiously waiting for the film to start.

I saw a boy take a girl’s hand, smiling at her gently, two girl friends laughing silently at something, and a mother helping her little boy put a napkin on his lap.

The stairs leading to each row were lit as the rest of the theatre went dark.