Life: Recycled.

Biting down on cold metal. Lips colored like rose petals. Mascara floods her eyes, her hands tremble and she cries. No time for second guessing, the bullet, she is caressing. Her thoughts spill on the ceiling, no more insecurities in need of concealing. A warmth hugs her as a light occupies her senses, a new beginning commences. A doctor says "it's a girl" and lays her on a chest. So this is death? No best dressed and laid to rest? Just a do over and rebirth with no knowledge of what's next? As the girl tried to remember why she died and what's what, she just cooed and cried and her umbilical cord was cut.