Morning;
        horizon cuts the throat of the Sun,
        memory separates from fantasy,
        you fail to comprehend what you’ve become.

Repeating:
        the sky bleeds above the same scenes;
        same faces, same shapes & places & you
        always another day further away

from when it began,
from when so much sand
was left in the hour-glass.

So awful it was when you finally
realised the truth;
                    when the wildflowers
withered & the blue
                    slowly faded away.

Trapped
behind darkening glass,
seeing
no way out.

How
did it come to this,
when
did all the mess begin?

& yet
either the future already exists or still
it can be changed,

                    so wait

because
not every chain
is unbreakable.