I haven't written for a while.

Death pierced me like an arrow. Dark and lovely, like liquid in liquid, releasing it's poison, curling and unwinding, sinking, twirling slowly. I felt my body coming to an end. For a moment I was a bird, then a deer being hunted in the forest heavy in winter. I was after that a baby being cradled in the silence of night, my humming mother swaying with me. I was a fish, chasing a lure in the green cloud of speckled lake. I was the strings of a cello vibrating with tension and song, a deep and soulful melody escaping me. And then I was me, lying there, ready.