What’s the difference between escapism and avoidance? “There isn’t one, they’re synonyms” I used to think that too Because I have been lying to myself for the past three years “It’s just a quick break” “I’m just winding down and then I’ll get things done” And yet Night after night I find myself lying in bed at 1:30 am Staring blankly at my phone Watching anything I can get my hands on to escape And scrambling the next day to get anything I avoided done I think that I’m simply just escaping into another world To take a break from reality When really I’m avoiding everything that I need to get done I’ve been lying to myself for 1128 days today Because I cannot get myself motivated to do anything I tell myself that I'll get it done in a minute But I know it won't be done until weeks after it was due I thought it was simply just escapism But I am a devout avoidance practicer There is a difference between escapism and avoidance Because escapism is a temporary break to set your mind straight And avoidance is escaping everything at any cost.
There’s a pile of papers Sitting on my desk Staring at me Taunting me Its eyes blink slowly And I stare back Wondering should I get started? No, I’ll do it later That was a month ago It’s a daily struggle now I’m not avoiding it, I swear I moved the pile to the corner of the room So it couldn’t stare at me anymore The pile has gotten higher taller Looming over me Disappointed that I’d rather read than finish them Its eyes narrow and it frowns at me Its stare boring into my back Revealing the hole where all of my motivation Dripping out Drip Drip drip I’m not avoiding it! I’m not.. I... But I don’t have any excuses to not do it
Chk-! Chk-! Chk-! Woosh! The tree falls down and I gather the wood that falls It fills up my inventory. An imaginary world controlled by a few keyboard clicks and mouse movements It’s not real but It better than my real life I’m an escapist of reality Because anywhere else would be better than this The pile of homework on my desk begs to differ But I ignore it I’ve been injured in a great dual. One of mighty wizards and witches, all battling for freedom. One of the medics heals my wounds, I watch as the skins magically starts coming back together Good as new As if it had never happened I wish paper cuts healed that fast There’s a dozen on my fingers from school work But let’s not think about that! Back to the great fantasy Away from my real life Away from everything My escape After all… my break hour isn’t over yet
definitely a minecraft reference a piece I use for S.A.D
Daring spirits search for delirium in a city of opportunity. Enthralled by the endless possibilities, The blinding lights and abandonment of time. They crave excitement, Yearning for the surge of adrenaline in their blood. The sweet taste of freedom.
in my mind all i really wanted was mind enough to say no... and yet as i had knelt... and as i had pleaded.. all i could ask for was ignorance and all i could say was thank you for all the venom--- still it feels just a little bit sad i couldn't ask for more... more drops by drops wishing wanting waiting washing down falling
intoxicating sating myself more and more in this scrumptouos feast of more and more and with every single mouthful i take in my appetite begs for more and more yes i am a wolf. the lowest of the low in a tripartite soul. and i can't help but fill myself up no matter how much i weigh myself down. i just want more. more of bullets for every single word you say more of icicles for every single awkward touch more of daggers for every single glare you look me down with more of poison for every single lie you make me swallow forcefully down my own throat saying that you've always been true more of you... for every single night i waste away lying wide awake lying to myself about not regretting every sound i taught, trained my tongue to incarcerate until you were no longer there to listen more of flames. the feeling i get whenever you quench my burning aching hunger. more of flames that blazing glimmer i become when everyone looks at all my scars with disappointment. i want more of flames. and i just want to burn it all down along with you. and then i'd happily engulf myself engorge myself on all our shared pain and misery knowing that no one will ever knowingly share anything else with me... let me bask at least one last supper in the blissful toxin of our cannibalism and one last time we'll cast a miracle and burn in the gluttony of our lustful intersuffering drowning drunk from the deathly fermentation of our own flowing blood knowing we'll never again have to wake up with a killer of a hangover tomorrow.
requested by~~ i*** and a****~~ quite difficult actually, i hope i don't disappoint you two :<
anyway, it is not like this is much of an anecdote to my life but this really resonates to me a lot, and honestly i based this on a friend of mine and it really isn't an unusual thing anyway.
ever tried to tell the world to f*c* off? it's kind of hard to do it when you're acting humane and all alone...
anyway, thanks for reading!!! please let me know what you think i could improve on this style on the comments :3
You take the box and strike a match against your skin The flames seeming to clean your old wounds. You don't notice your scorched red skin and broken fingers. As you take another, I hear the match against your flesh Your heavy breathing, your shaking hands, and rigid smile. You enjoy this pain much more Don't you
This morbid visage does often tell, Of the strife and torment that knew me well. Without the veil of innocent youth, I find my heart burdened with truth. For a man as self conscious as me, No respite from insecurity. To a prisoner in chains I am akin, Ever on the outside, looking in. My heart wavers for I lack conviction, To break away cursed inhibitions. Never can I remedy this, So I escape myself and enter bliss. For when I am not who I know I am, I am free from the pain that keeps me ******.
Some thoughts on the concept of the escapism some people experience when in times of stress.
Lifted from the river of routine Wring from me, the wetness of weary Let me dry upon the soil of desire I stand in fields formed by the fantastic On each vine I spy Time growing ripe and restless Hearts swelling in soft feeling Laughter long and lasting And everything is in abundance So I ****, pluck, pick Accumulating these unclaimed riches And bottle them into wine A thousand bottles I store Then the fine liquid touches my tongue Delight dances upon the taste buds And I’m wealthy, in love, in time, in laughter For years I do this Learning nothing new or worthy Banning all knowledge For even a single frayed book Could disturb All of this Bliss
Though the Isle may be different for each person, we escape there all the same..