Keeper of the Cosmic Crayon

I'm dead. I'm 17 years old and I'm dead. I've went into the Light. I've gone down the river of death in the valleys of my own mind and have come to the Light but my own ego keeps me from being part of the Light. Who am I?

"You are the Keeper of the Cosmic Crayon."

Said a voice in me and outside of me. Fragments of infinite imagination unbound before me in crystal shards full of living words.

"I'm not a word worshiper." I said as my mind spun out from the mortal tread of my short life.

Each word was a living thing bound in crystal that changed colors and turned inside out before it turned inside in. Over and over again like living music the crystals were played by the living words.

A billion rainbows sang to me a bittersweet song. I fell out of heaven and was flung back to the flesh I was born into on this world. I haunt that flesh to this day, wishing my own selfish ego had let me be part of the Light.

Ego is the destroyer of all things.