The Writers Box

So I write, I write and I write. I like to write. I like to write so I write. There is no purpose There is no expenditure There is no outcome There is nothing other than me writing. I'm in a box now, writing but I'm freaking out a bit I never knew it would be like this. I don't know what to write anymore I'm in a box, in a box. I've been in this box all this time. I guess I should have known. There was never anyway I could write myself out of this box. All this time I thought I could, if only I was given half a chance. But I was only lying to myself, or is it a lie, and I am fighting back with the only thing that makes any sense, the only endowment, the whole enchilada yes, this big writing lying thing is virtue that I thought I held but never did, for it was me And I was it.