The Day Before. (Undergoing Re-Writing as 01/11/22) (Sequences 1-4 finished)

Sequence Seven.

Sequence Seven.

The Town

I fall. I keep falling and falling. What kind of evil trickery is this? Is my life a joke? Where there is no end, forgive me please for all I have sinned. You memories don't care—my soul is open in which they're damned to bend and roam forever—simply pinned.

I am now stuck in nothingness. Where nothing is nothing—why is nothing? Why does nothing even exist? I think of something now that nothing exists. This place that I think of is so strange.

It is unlike anything that I have ever seen or anywhere that I have ever been. So much I have done, so much I have seen. Tangling, dangling... from a string?

This nail that I have carried all of this way—what is its true purpose, what are my intentions with it? What is its pain? What is this mad limb that now dangles before me? My memories are murders, aren't they. I'd swear it by name, but I cannot exactly remember my name.

I walk toward and forward and I expect. This limb hangs from a string—bloody and wrecked— the very same string that I left behind long ago. Now it is bloodied and knotted although.

It hangs from a plane, muddied and decrepit. In this madness, have I possibly murdered someone? Have my memories escaped? Impossible, they are trying to retake.

I spill my blood as I spill my mind. More and more I am lead into time. In incomplete, desecrate design. A mandated mind I stand open to the darkest of times. My memories they do not come, though, they're so much further behind.

Rotting sun, eyes of heaven, face of hell. Stories untold with nothing to tell. Careful of sin, and nothing to bring. Nicely falling to the ground—a sound of a chime.

On all four knees, my troubles stand. My thoughts have spoken, they've shambled and opened my life they are spoken. My life has been taken, and my soul is now broken.

Etched in blood, cold as steel. I know, I know this can't be real. I touch and feel, but I think of something else. This is real, it is with me. As the sky turns darker still, I know that I am not alone—I am here with myself.

A field of bodies now—is what I am seeing surreal? Am I art? Simply lost by a spill? Nothing makes sense now, why are they here? Are they here because of my memories? The one's that aren't mine? They aren't mine but I can see them. The chains have been broken, but little I see. That memory that might rest me to ease... it may rest inside of me.

Items lay useless in a populated town. This town is the ground that sits before me that I sit... no... I am standing on. I add this nail that I have carried all so long down to the ground with the rest of the items. But simply, looking down, I frown.

The ruins, the decay—these bodies of dismay. Obscured by the darkened, torn and blurred. I am all of the sudden thrusted away. A town is shown. The houses are barren, the streets are dark. They all look run down, all alike. So does the ground. The town is on the horizon. On the downside—it's won.