there was never any doubt
as to whether she lives
in limbo or not.
her legs are wobbly but
her voice is strong.
she is the blurry lines,
the drunk walking
the tightrope in the
darkness of a sober
night terror.
perhapes she was born as
a delusional thought
in someone else's head and
now she's merely a dream
given up long ago.
death isn't necessarily limited
to a rozen heartbeat and
life doesn't have to have
rosy cheeks.
-Marisa B Crane
