being hereIt is the same yellow and orange and red that surrounded me when I was fourteen and pissed off at my own mom for making me wipe table after table, so I guess I shouldn’t blame her for her smart-ass attitude.

Death surrounds me, Sixteen entities within a room, Clothed in blue and white garments, It is not heaven that they experience, but instead the cold steel of the blade, I feel guilt, guilt having been lost over time. A question arises, Will they forgive me?