The boundaries which divide life from death
are at best shadowy and vague.
Who shall say where one ends,
and the other begins?

This world holds us in.
What would we be without it?
What are we with it?

It all seems so fake.
Our words,
mere paper roses.
Our truths,
unforgivable thorns,
which cut when they reach the surface
of our hopeless flesh.

Where one starts and the other begins...
Is that our flaw?