The knife slid across my face
But nothing but dirt poured out.
Flowers and water form from the dirt,
Lighting up the death room with life.
The dirt pours from my head
Filling the room, creating a layer over the
floors and walls.
More flowers bloom,
animals come to play.
I am alive in the room of death.
I have become one with the power of nature.
Receded back to the substance,
From which I had been created from.
All death means, is that I can now give,
New life to someone else.
Introducing some Heaven into Hell.