Escape is a hard word to define when you don’t know where you are
Or, when you don’t even know why you are there in the first place
It’s like a memoir of solitude; a semi-colon as a tattoo.
A statement saying, “I’ve been there,” or “I did that.”
An excuse to get away from the troubles and agitation that mold us everyday
It’s hard to escape when you don’t have an exit
A way or place to go to.
Many of us find the noose around our neck or slits on our wrist satisfactory
While others just simply change a direction, and travel a different road.
However, amid all of these, some find themselves entrapped in the forest.
Without said supplies or a map; without night or day; without right or wrong
Yet, conscience of mind and the shade of Earth’s natural growth lingering above
That should be enough, right?
Enough to create company? Enough to keep…sanity?
Well, it’s hard to say when the forest forever changes
Yet, here we are beneath the brush. Still.
Planning our escape.
Planning the adventure we said we would have when we were younger.
Planning the life that the town around us hoped we would achieve.
We wish we could feel it all.
Feel that love that the high-school sweethearts cherished
Feel that sadness that those who have lost in their lives have
Feel anything.
Yet, here we are beneath the brush. Entrapped in the forest
Planning our escape. It’s hard to be Alone.

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