"Where will you run now?"

I'm a retreatist, someone that lives to run away.
Since I was a small boy I've been running as fast as these legs could take me

But when shit hit the fan all my hiding spaces faded away

Since then I exhale Fear, pespire Anxiety as I run.
Since the day I lost my big closet to hide in I have retreated further and further into myself.

Shallow as a puddle, yet deeper than any ocean

Can someone tell me how people like me are supposed to live in this world?

How can someone who is blissfully content have his head in the sand live in this world of networking?

I just can't get it, nothing makes sense!
I want to run, but my ankles have been shackled.
My heart has died long ago, my psyche has fired its last synapse, my soul-

There is no place to hide anymore. nowhere.
Someone please tell me, what am I supposed to do when reality has its claw around my throat and is pinningbme down to its ugly existence?

This poem is about: 
My community

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