I was looking through my box of memories and found this poem BlackBloodJin gave me. I didn't ask her if I could post it, so if I die you know you to tell the police to question. It didn't have a name, so I named it The Line.
A thin line separates us from death.
But what lies between them?
Is it a true line? Or a lie?
Is life a constant mockery of death?
Does death truely exist?
You cannot see it, speak itm or feel it,
Or is death a state of mind?
Is it a light brush of wind beckoning to you?
Or the whisper you push to the back of your mind in uncertainy?
Or is the true line between sanity or insanity?
Not being able to tell the difference between life and death, is that insanity?
What is true sanity?
Day after day of the same routine.
Or the thought of not knowing what will happen next.
A thin line separates us from insanity.
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
||||
|
![]() |
|
![]() |
Goto Page: 1 2 [>] [»|] | ![]() |