Middle It's carried from billowing clouds surrounded in green, floating through the air with the grace of a feather descending down settling in to the mother of #life. Seasons blow past and the clouds shrink and green withers coating the ends with frost. It stays still, not dead or alive for it hadn't stayed to die or moved to live. It was no mans land a place only a few stayed for long,the middle. Understanding both top and bottom of the stick. To be at the bottom you had to once live at the top but to get up you had to have left. Strays in the middle had to once have known #life to know they weren't alive but came close to death to know that pain wasn't emitted within long enough to be a bliss of numbness after. There was pain and numbness suggesting you were both; alive and dead. A pain that is only felt alive like heartache or feeling useless and a numbness that is left for the dead,even if they found a place to go there wasn't sorrow or relief but a rawness of nothing. And so it stayed because to move meant to live but to continue meant to die and while the question was inevitable the decision was not;was living worth suffering or was deaths numbness a reward?