Fine Lines

Have I suffered enough, sometimes I wonder,
Maybe not enough, and maybe too much,
Fine lines divide what's on top and what's under,
Like a fool who asks you about your spiritual journey,
Or another who thinks that might is right,
Like thorns of a fresh rose prickling into your fingers,
So beautiful and yet about the pain, only your skin knows,
Such is the wonder of nature and gods creations,
Of how fickle beauty and perception is,
Fine lines divide consciousness from one another,
Yet they believe that this is something else,
Or maybe it's something else because this believes it so,
A man who has faked death and pain,
Will never know when he is dead or if he is injured,
A constant buzz of nothingness consumes him,
Till the afterlife and maybe even beyond that,
To what lengths he used to go cannot be tread upon anymore,
Because he rebuked the very soul that taught him how to.