Some kind of ambience,
in the uncanny we trance.
Some sort of deprivation,
in allowing our souls to dance.

Vaccum packed,
vessel ziplock bag.
Sealproof drag,
running it’s course
through all of the
wonders we’ve had.

Flashbacks, tremors.
It all remained.
In a glance.
Hopes stained unapologetically,
experience tarnished my chance.




Chances.

Forging me flat.

To flatten.
To flatten.





© Aish