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