I've bought a box to escape reality.
It's tiny, potent; it has want to conjure words and worlds alike.
In these right angles, at just the right angle, is any horizon- anywhere new. I pull it each and every way, lean myself to shallow bends and deeper corners still. Each dollar I spent is two I should seek; perhaps there's coins pinned in these folds, weighing it down- slowing it down. Shall I spend to speed- could another coin pry these chambers open, or would I lose that too?
If I go inside, I can free myself, and ease reality on the way. I pull the box over myself. I allow it to obscure me- invert the world in covers. For a moment- I could imagine my tethers freed: a feeling worth compensation. My escape chimes, coins in a cacophony jingle. This corruption weakens the box, yet coins look solid enough.
Inside my box, my darling escape, a new box still appears. Words on worlds:
"Is this all you spend to flee spending?"
I scrape the walls for coins. I should think it easier from inside the box.
