Detour

As I’m trying to

Charge hard

Forward

Full steam

Into work and life

And creation

And could I have a sex life, please

Some semi-healthy food,

But it’s hard to find time when

One is running running running

I find that fatally flawed,

In that it is human and mortal and bipolar,

Brain of mine detouring

Into wonderings

Like, what if I grabbed up my car keys

And my meds, some clothes,

Whatever money I can scrounge,

And ran? Just ran until I was 

Elsewhere (with a capital E)

Would that make me Someone Else?

Would I survive or

Return to the pill popping,

Knife/wrist dreaming,

Hospitalized wreck of humanity

I was before moving here?

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