Shipped
Surrounded by shapes
In a box
All
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
Or
Use a knife to cut us open
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