Two Lines

A poem I wrote when I was 16.

One sharp, jagged line of inching death
Each stab lets out a grim beat
Closer the tips enclose the closer life and death meet
Everything is blocked by flooding sorrow
The fight for life promises demise
In one hand lies a knife and the other is empty but full
The knife only promises more tears
But an escape
Unknown and sure the wrong hand is lifted as a poor man’s choice
Two parallel lines lay apart
And forever they will, never to touch
One destined to stay above, while the other below