Purified

Dutifully I trace myself.
admiring the soft white lines
that set such firm, indefinite boundaries.
Boundaries
that remain surrepitious -
except to those who reside within them.

I pull the white, compacted stick of powder,
weaving in and out,
molding a shape that reflects who I was,
until,
in a tiny moment,
I stop moving,
and white ceases it's tiresome grind against pavement.
The boundaries are heavy,
and just as purity is the rival,
unknown forever
to those who pervert it,
So death remains a curious thing
until twins are joined together
by a thin line of chalk.