Emergent from the womb,
we take our first breath caked in plasma.
Ever after stuck in gloop.
Each step forward sucked back twice the distance -
our insistence to return to this placenta.
Always harking back.
Retreat to Past, the old familiar.
Even memories coloured black
won't loose these stultifying ties that bind,
this blinding by our choice of sick nostalgia.
Sands of time contaminated.
Flow clogged, coagulated.
Time stands still.