The fog is blanket over the world.
And in this foggy world,
each soul is shackled to a hundred others,
connecting us all
through time
and through space.

These shackles are not all bad—
some are made from tying knots with
some of our bloody ligaments,
straight from our bodies.
Some are made from material things
that we’ve touched on an early morning at a garage sale
or a thrift store.
Maybe a scarf or a ring.

Maybe the shackles are easy to pull off,
but the connection is so sentimental,
we just hold onto the attachments.
Wouldn’t it be sad to be free?
To be alone and without anyone at all.

There would be such openness that our soul would fill—
there would be no comparisons or connections
or smiles shared.
That would also mean no hatred shared or given either.

Is it worth it to feel free, but be alone?

And the fog won’t ever go away, until all the souls are wiped out and
spread across all the galaxies,
among all the suns and moons that have ever existed.
We will be ghosts in the nebulous.