Treacherous Lines

Lines are drawn,

Ropes of red fall.

A look in the mirror.

A barrage of hatred.

An ache felt from within.

Pain felt in all places.

Longing for darkness.

But Yin always has a Yang.

So it stops. Now the lines are short.

Careful.

Hidden.

The pain is deep.

Distracting.

Welcoming.

A compromise.

Death to one.

Life to the other.

Till it comes again.

And it starts all over.

Lines will always be drawn,

Ropes of red will always fall.

                                                Ava.


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