The coldness of the ground chilled my skin,
I could feel my body going numb,
but the blood rushing out gave an odd comfort,
warming my stomach
peirced with a spear.
I knew my lips were turning blue, my skin a sickly pale.
Stories always lead me to believe death was a painful, long, dreadful thing.
This death or more this process of dying was euphoric.
My brain was going haywire, I felt high.
I could only feel a distance ping of suffering.
Bells rang in my ear, making a sweet harmony.
I became light headed. Felt like I was on a cloud.
Cloud nine.
The chemical reactions in my brain gave me bliss.
I loved dying.
A girl, the one who killed me, stood over my body.
She reminded me of those angels,
Maybe she was here to bring my damed soul to heaven,
or prehaps hell.
She was the last thing I saw,
forever etched in my brain,
forever my first glimpse of heaven.
