The Escape Artist

Carved into the back of the tree in the park,
Is an old sign that says
"Born to be free".
I'm the tree with roots that go farther than the
sense of the writer's irony.

Would you believe that people can be sharpened like a pencil
Created to be consumed and destroy themselves
As they're done living.
Pencils don't consider saving themselves up for a rainy day.

Everyday reality is like a drug to numb the senses
Everyday is determined to make me forget
Everyday is a cage for the mind
And everyday I become an escape artist.

I sit and laugh louder than anyone
As they sit and tell me how it is that I can be more normal
They offer me up prizes and liken them
To the lights at the end of the tunnel.