Dead muses, clinging to the parts of me that have no eyes to see the changes necessary.
Some of them look like me. It is hard to discern when I am escaping self and when I am escaping a dried up muse. All of them dead hands.
Dead hands grasping and gripping and pulling like a sick lateral gravity.
Escape is when you can see the light and feel the pull.
If you do not see the light or feel the pull, you are in stasis. They have you.