My pain is an orchestra, composed of different instruments, each demanding my attention. They have different pitches and volumes and play strange tunes on my body. An entire orchestra, and I am the only one in the audience.
A steel flute buried inside of me, scarlet tears gushing from the wound. Trumpets of rage bellow inside my head, a delicate harp of grief playing gracefully on my heart strings.
If this is what death feels like, I'd die again, just to attend that beautiful concert, to be the only one to hear it perform twice.
