westid

i awoke to an acrid burning in my eyes, and my lungs. the person who crept up behind me was long gone. i got up off my back, the floorboards beneath me were hot. it didn’t take me long to figure out that the building was on fire, whatever someone had broken on me was in pieces all around me. it packed a blunt force to say it was hollow and ceramic. i climbed up to my feet and looked for a way through the flames, which surrounded me. i ran toward the exit, but some sort of instinct froze me in place as i reached for the door to open it. although it looked like the obvious way out, the paint was bubbling away from whatever burned on the other side of it. my hair beginning to singe standing near the fire door board, housing quite an horrible backdraft on the other side

this was during the conspiracy days. my frame was weakened by the heroin, the oxycodone, and the dead weight carrying on my shoulders. it didn’t take me long to realise that i may have been laid down on my back for longer than i had planned. i saw a window, even though i was three floors up at least, the fire was making the world much smaller in here the more i looked down on it. i flew and i swore right there and then an angel must have carried me on with wings of fire. the shockwave from the explosion knocked the life out of me as my soul – or whatever will was there inside of me, wesley will – held on with a renewed passion for my remaining state of mortality

to within an inch of my life, in the broken glass on the ground outside, i felt something warm pouring down my body. i knew it was my blood, but instinctively somehow i could sense that stopping to acknowledge this would be the exact moment that this reality became. i couldn’t stop to admire my unmaking yet, the night time dark in the early hours of the morning enabling – this thing was far from over, and so off i went

i came to a hillside promenade renaissance. they looked on me with eyes of all the ghosts from my pasts, clawing their way into my mind from many an early grave. the bitter tingle of unconsciousness setting into my hands and my feet. i fell to my knees. give me the second wind of the north – and i knew that in the engine room across the river, the fire was still burning. give me the first ritual of the inferno, and blindfolded and bound wrists behind me, the goddess of fire cast at me with her eyes glowing green. i became something else at the outset, and she threaded her love spell into the fabric of my heart. her light burned through the brutalist waste ground environs of the dark eyes deadpan telekinetic hold onto my free will. i could feel these fingers clasping slowly around my heart as it beat inside of me, and her thoughts oozed so meticulously into my mind