Escape Artist

I will dig a little bit each day with a spoon I stole from the chow hall.  After everyone else is asleep I’ll move my bed and dig straight down.  Then I’ll start tunneling my way out of this hellhole of a life.  It may take a few years, but I have nothing but time on my hands.  The alternative is to stay where I am and continue to be me for the rest of my life.  I have considered that.  Where did I put that damn spoon?
 
I tried moving.  I moved all over the world, but I’m still me.  I just keep showing up like a dog that you try to abandon out in the country but keeps finding his way home.  I go to the door and there I am, looking all pathetic, so I just let myself back in.  If I don’t let myself in I’d just sit outside the door and howl all night.  I don’t want to drag the neighbors into all of this. 
 
But this time I think I can lose the guy who used to be me.  I found a drivers license that looks enough like me to pass casual inspection—I’ll be him.  The new me is 6’2,” I always wondered what it would be like to be taller.  Looking at the picture I can tell that I am totally losing my hair, and I’m ten years older, but I’ll cross those bridges when I get to them.  The guy in the license is heavier so I’ll take fries with every meal.  I can hardly wait.  My fake ID is my ticket out of this dump.
 
I’m sick of this prison of a life where I dictate to myself that I can’t park my Hummer in the handicap space, that’s if I had a Hummer--sissy-ass me has a VW and some bikes.  I want to be free of the bars that won’t allow me to become a street mime.  I want to knock down the walls that won’t let me wear a Speedo.®   I won't let me do anything fun.  What a Nazi!  All of this is going to change when I bust out of here.
 
I’m going to say things like “Have a good one” and “No worries.”  I’m going to drink beer with no carbohydrates.  I am going to tell people I don’t have time to read, and then I’ll watch five hours of television every day.  I want cable with all the movie channels.  I plan on getting to the bottom of this whole Girls Gone Wild business.  The old me wouldn’t be caught dead watching that, but deep down he probably is dying to see it.  I mean, it’s a video of girls showing their boobs and all you have to do is sit back, drink carbohydrate-free beer, and watch.  What was the old me thinking?  What is he, some sort of homo?  They're girls, and they’ve gone wild, you idiot!
 
I haven’t even finished digging out, but already I feel so free I think I can fly.  I’m going to smoke cigarettes and get drunk every night.  The sky is the limit, and I plan on hitting rock bottom.   I have always wanted to do that, but the old me wouldn’t let me.  If I get away with this I’ll help break you out.  We can steal a car and go on a nation-wide crime spree together.  So long, suckers.