In the art of dying, I wonder how I can forget the path to my grave. All my life’s dreams blur like dark red blood in swirling water. Many millions of moments have led to this one and final stage. As I wait to disappear my lonely soul fuses with the ever dark realm while I wait for the time to behold itself. I’m seeing the swarm of fluttering black butterflies that signify the beginning of the end. With spheres of emotions, the murky water is turning to dusk as I prepare for an eternity of a long cold winter.