She holds the brush like a hammer pounding her vision like nails to wood while colours howl and cry on the canvas.

smiling with lipless mouths, winking with lidless eyes their brittle bones clacking and clattering in an ancient percussive rhythm

Death's route is serpentine, winding in and out of dreams and memories like a river moving across the land.

You asked where God is and meant it as sincerely as your nightly request for a glass of water by the bed.