Standing On the Line

standing on the line thoughts turn to death, crossing over, passing on what ever term we humans use to make the inevitable less frightening it is the last big event and we avoid the reality. try and talk about dying with anyone you are shunned, ignored or worse still diagnosed as deeply depressed their eyes roll innocently to your wrists voice changes to distanced conciliatory tone. platitudes well rehearsed fumble across the chilling space in dark profusion their fingers creep, supposedly unnoticed, toward the prescription pad quick, plan your escape silence is golden scared the stuffing out of the poor beggar i know i am afraid, mostly of the pain or stumbling around in a confusion, cut off from life, by the very treatment for pain there will be loss of self, then, a discovery of something so profound, answers to all of my questions.