Blind Truth

That window is magic.

Every time I pull back the blue blind,
I look out into the parking lot, the truth, illumin-hated by yellow buzzing glows of streetlights,
and my nose tingles and tickles
and the ice in my eyes melts.
I could leave, I could run, "go awol" like the other kids say,
but where to
This isn’t my home, this isn’t Baltimore.
That window is magic,
I could open it and run,
but it freezes whenever I look through it,
like when I bumped ketamine, kit-kat
to get rid of the ice in my eyes.
That window is magic,
an unpassable threshold.
That window is magic,
pulling me in every night,
drawing me into panic. 

an anxiety of never ending and overwhelming force

And I’ll keep staring at it,
staring at the truth,
till I’m blind.