The Thin Grey Line

I am a man nay, a boy decaying,
I worshiped my kin as all faithless boys do,
Following their pure light until the fade.
I thought of the black, the white of life,
Not me, I now live in the inbetween,
The thin grey line between the ying and yang,
I am reborn a twisted creature of these murky depths.

Slush

I see you clearly now,

I see us for who we are,

You are the blank figure,

Wrapped in your inner dialogue,

Arguing contradictions to each side of your coin,

Each an opposite to each other,

a cycle that never ends.

A vapour of formality and cynicism,

Blackens the air around you,

Obscuring you even in this age of digital clarity.

I see strands of your past,

A meandering breadcrumb trail of lost connections

That curses your psyche, scarring you,

Leaving only the merest suggestion of the helical lottery

that makes up the unique snowdrop of your being.