You write to escape
And even then, escaping is not enough.
You used to do other things that numb the mind
To end its useless chatter and allow for something else to be
Now you write and write
And it never ends
There is no close or a final chapter
There is no dry land to reach
Or a well to be tapped to the last drop
There is more and more
There is writing
And some day, writing might no longer be enough
Not fast enough or expansive enough
Not that you’re looking forward to that
But it just might be the end
As the infinite vastness collapses in more
The vessels that carry it have to change
And escaping it must
Not sure to what end
Nor what will keep the mind resisting its scent
Away and away it goes on a journey of woes
You write to escape today, tomorrow, and yesterday
But the memory fades, and the future evades
So NOW is all that’s left — You write.
Until the next ❤️ beat ~.~.~
“To get out of one’s cape”
escape(v.)
c. 1300, transitive and intransitive, "free oneself from confinement; extricate oneself from trouble; get away safely by flight (from battle, an enemy, etc.)," from Old North French escaper, Old French eschaper (12c., Modern French échapper), from Vulgar Latin *excappare, literally "get out of one's cape, leave a pursuer with just one's cape," from Latin ex- "out of" (see ex-) + Late Latin cappa "mantle" (see cap (n.)). Mid-14c., of things, "get or keep out of a person's grasp, elude (notice, perception, attention, etc.);" late 14c. as "avoid experiencing or suffering (something), avoid physical contact with; avoid (a consequence)." Formerly sometimes partly Englished as outscape (c. 1500). Related: Escaped; escaping.
I can relate to that