Escape on the Bookshelf

If the world is my oyster
then I must have an allergy to shellfish.
And I don't mean to sound a cynic,
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash
But my head is a prison with just the occasional conjugal visit.
So I don't want to waste myself
with things much bigger than those on the bookshelf.
Been there, done that, but the t-shirt was just too tight
For a loner with paperback eyes.
Now I’m left
To think and thoughts and less wuthering of heights
Where conversational stares can’t hurt me.
Crack the spine.
I’m running through pages, splitting their seams,
Stalking fiction and forgetting dreams.
Paper-faced friends with inky backs
are enough to escape the world and its crap
While the monsters of the mind
Refuse to fall quiet.
I’m not waving, I’m drowning,
Frowning, clowning, counting down
the days,
While stone cold stoned, the world watch away.

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