Surrounded by shapes 

In a box 


All along I thought we were leaving 
But we were not even moving

To be moved 
Boxes have to be pushed 

Sealed souls of impossibility 
Shipment of cannots 
Intentionally concealed from the outside
Packaged to sell 
Hoarded to waste 
Stacked on top of one another
Or below 
Way below with no way to climb

Stored to the bitter end
Let the dust build on our breath
Use a knife to cut us open