the war of escapism

i can see them.
dying.
some,
afraid to be alone
others,
afraid not to be.
but i'm fighting so hard.
to not think about
how your first initial looks
in ink
against some desolately white page.
this displacement
is failing.
hearts
are still crashing through
and the coursing of blood
leaves me
like a marathon runner
with noir in my eyes.