Spiralling out of control towards armless hands of bones. Flexing finger tips grab to bore at my flesh.
A sunken fever brings false saviours. Hope built and collapsed in flashes of imagery, used to pollute the faith.
Out of nowhere I am caught. Is this reality or another method of torture? Part of the punishment of this realm. No this dream’s real, I am touched by substance wiping my brow, mowing away levels of uncertainty.
I am higher now, feeling cooler above the clouds. A burnt smell furrows my nostrils. Panic sets in as I scour my surroundings. It’s not me but my protector whose caught by the flames. Wings are singed, though the descent upwards doesn’t waver.
The climax wakes me cold. As my mind blinks to work through reality, a figure in front of me bows, and evaporates from existence. There was no expression, but this essence produced no fear. Now i know blind faith is real, as Angels have no face, just a presence of hope.