The shadows are creeping up the wall.
Death dances in the dying flames, mocking.
Broken mirrors dulled and grey
where fragments of our lives
are trapped, wriggling like
worms in a rusty can.

Is there hope yet?
Where can we look?
Are we permanently crippled?
Once I tried to fly...

Wingless, weary, numb with
trauma, a haze hangs over our heads
and no wind blows.


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