Note: This is an older poem. Probably written mid 90’s when I was very angsty.

A Much Needed Rest

This page is my escape route.

But, reality is not an ink refill.

It is but the pen
that has just run out;
you can barely see it,
but the imprint is there.

If I had an eraser
I could make the ink disappear.

I would have to rub
really hard
and I might rip the paper.

Then I would have to start over.