Escapism / by The Black Lex Luthor

In the moments I share now within myself the dismay clouds
an otherwise bright day making the worries cripple my movement
and I wish to be someone else, some other time.

Escapism, the idea of liberation leaves me to ponder my prison,
these walls that I have built, brick solid and clear as glass
do not give to my touch, cold as the past.

Reading between is living in place of a dream
is living a lie of probable success, holding onto nothing that
is of consequence in this reality- to overcome is a process.

The means of freedom, the scheme to fly, to make your wings
the reason why that caged bird sings, is nothing if you can't believe
that believing in yourself is the key you need.