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

Sequence Eight.

Sequence Eight.

The Haven.

I am here now in this divine place of a bubbly heaven. Like a watery presence—perfectly balanced for me to be allowed in. Nothing to fear, no worries or cares. No ugly noises or features, creatures or anything lurking. Nothing that irks me.

Everything's peace. This place is clean. No one but me, perfectly sheen. An oblong creature, none a feature—stands, not sits in front of me—not a chance.

So bright and white it is here. Then I realize that I no longer have eyes, and that my mind is the only thing here—I've become my own light. I begin to drift towards the figment of a something. A voice calls to me, it whispers softly. I understand not. I hear nothing.

But yet I feel like I am in understanding. Piece by piece my vision was blurred. For years and far more have torn my glee, and just when I was assured that I was free—it all had slowly crept away from me. Yet be my vision blurred again the very next day. Now here I am. Still—no—forever a slave.

Yet now I feel saved. Nay myself cannot rely. What clocks tick, tick with time. I wish, I wish I would not die. This sound of hands of time kills my mind, and when the future comes to me tonight—the past—the present will join the fight.

Now it all leaves sight. The wobbly musk, forgotten to rust. Pillars of aqua, covered in dust. Miles of tables all covered in crust. The cradle it rocks, the candle it sparks. The aged out crevice of musk it procures.

Could I bring the branch up to my face, to see—not heareth my wicked stance. That voice now sits there in front of me, forever out of reach. Stuck in place I am now—on a leash.

A lizard upon me sits in a tree. Where else am I or what not to be. The glass un-fogs, settling me to ease. An empty nothingness results, and in the end a reflection it shows—nothing. I knew it.

Sentence this old mangy bag. Troubled by life, my eye-bags hang. Wishing for another time of softer, more lazy reside. I wish myself upon this kind.

To not take flight, but take the time. Feel the same, kill the pain. Hell arise, thunder rains. Tamed and shame. The sunlight stopped, and then it rained. But it never really did help cure the pain.

Thunder strikes and my eyes ignite. My memories appear, wicked with fear. Thumbs up for my memories—this battle will surely make history.

I fall to my knees and rub the dirt. I feel the rain as drops hit my back. I flash back to a time—that time when I was in the same rain, screaming I was alive.

I stand up. "I AM HERE!" "I AM HERE!" I yell out and scream to my memories. A dark cloud pours out of the sky. A great big hand swivels and flies. Screams of lies, cries and despise reach far and spread out wide. They reach for me—they reach so high.

I close my eyes, I expect to finally die. I close my mouth so I could not kiss, or take in, my eyes overwhelmed by the sadness it suspends.

Stricken with grief, a memory of evil now comes to with with belief. A beautiful lady, her lips close on mine. Anger flows. Like electricity, a snap out of reality. A memory shatters. It surges out of me and right back into me. I open my still-closed eyes and kiss through my painful mouth. Nothing is there. Nothing but fear.

I sigh and I run for my life. Weakened and seeking some sort of mapped out plan. From out of the openness a monster it presses on trying to reach for my hand.

I reach a small house that rests on a hill. Engulfed I am by the feeling of shame. A misery, an eternal shame. The eternal fire it starts to flame. Burning tall, the fire overtakes. It begins to break the house. The porch it creaks and shakes and the floors below me gives out and buckles.

I sigh; weakened and tapped out of energy—stressed. From out of the openness the memories keep pressing. The small house still blessed in strewn ruins rests. The misery leaking from the boards fester and creep. The pain it overtakes. The porch moans loudly and creaks once again, quieter now—it rests in what peace it can.

I step forward more as the flames continue to overtake. Inside of a window, myself stands shaking. He screams I did it, threatening me. In the distance, a church bell rings. A funeral choir sings. As cold fog begins to lightly sting, the ground splits open beneath my feet—and in an instance I disappear in complete.