Rhetorics
Breathing drawn, it’s cold as glass,
moonlight muffled; curtains cast,
eggshells fashioned out of ash,
crack them, this could be my last
walk inside the thin white line,
chance to choose to live or die,
answer all my questions why;
'cause if they’re not crazy,
then what am I?
Copyright © Kelly Greer | Year Posted 2012
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