There is such a fine line between living and existing,
They say in hushed tones that he is trapped within the confines of his body, paper mache skin stretched taunt, like canvas over brittle bones,
His shallow breath stirs the whiskers on his face,
He hasn’t shaven, but what is the point of it anyway?
You say that time has flown by, fleetingly simple,
But the mirror provides evidence that it was a strenuous process,
To grow,
To learn,
The weight of the universe and the fate of others freewill cause bones to shatter and the body to bend,
Until you are slumped over in florescent hallways, walking towards a blank sheet of nothing,
Oblivion maybe,
Perhaps you are there now,
White tooth walls give the appearance of a place between destinations, life and death,
Remembrance and obscurity,
You were once faced with a clear enemy, but you had youth and complicated weapons,
Now the enemy isn’t such an enemy anymore,
Does it abduct you or hammer away the shackles that keep you earthly bound?
Is it the air that engulfs a feeble flame or a generous stranger?
The florescent lights hum and you can swear it’s the secret language of angels.