Sacrifice

The steel below me was as cold and lifeless as it could be. It seemed as though I was retaining an eerie sense of actualization. The taste of metal was increasingly frankly expressed. My sight was not initiated from a certain angle; the light was not reflected onto my eyes anymore. The light was not of much significance now. The dimension into which I was being introduced trespassed the blue laws of facts and physics. All was relative. All was none.
I was more vividly aware of my surroundings. But I was extent beyond spacial constraints. It seemed as though I existed somewhere between the body and the white tardy sheet. My nails needed a cut. My hair was glued with greasy secretions to my scalp, except for a few repugnant charcoal black hairs from the left side of the head. My eyes were bulging out. No more compliments were to be offered to the them anymore. The nose was already big. However, a bluish red bruise was dominant over the right nasal bone. My lips were chipped and puffed to the outside. Not much air was there to cushion the size. The biggest slit was at the center almost perfectly symmetrically separating the two halves of the lower lip. The beard was a mess. The rib cage was.. opened?
The heart was still beating on the silver tray on the counter to the medium far right. I gasped! Or maybe it was the moment blowing the wind through the labored melancholic milestone. To the far right, way way to the right, there was a whistle. For a first impression, it can be easily mistaken for a Chinese lullaby playing in collaboration with the "coronary base". That which pulls back cries of the child, memories of the gone. The humming was as soothing, too. It was a she. Dressed in childish white along with occasionally crimson stains. A dress so simple with its straps covering to just above her knees. The hair was fully blond. Slightly curled at the tips. Naturally blond. The gal was in contact with the floor. The sole and the five perky toes where all connected to the stance and the white blocks of the ground. Even the dusts were charmed to her feet while she insisted on dancing over their presence. The face could not be identified anymore. The arms? Maybe. The golden wisps? The neck? The slightly showing jawline? The innocent light movements? Yes!
She was a state of existence. That smile! That nose. But what's happening? I swear I could hear her laugh. Her childish frolic was evident with the utensils beating against each other. Intentionally slammed into each other by those hands. Her hands!
But why?
My death was but a phase to her thoughts. The heart was a sacrifice to the upper good, to the bigger group. That moment, love was stripped to its instinctual lust. The pretty little pink was not so pink, not so little, not so pretty.