Can't breathe, I awaken, smoke billowing into the room.
Consuming me ruthlessly, it chokes and religiously blooms.
I use each piece of strength I have to relieve my lungs on the carpet,
convulsing and coughing has stopped now, don't know when it started.
My heart pulls for the darkness of the street below,
aware of the heat now, I see the blaze's radiant glow.
The place I retire each night is feverishly feeding a fire,
the fright is faint, but I reach desperately for the freedom I desire.
The tiny front lawn cradles me as I leap from the window,
a man strides towards me and carries on like a riddle...
he's experienced my pain, and hopes to help me recover,
his way of repaying a debt he once owed to another.
"I will shelter you and feed you... teach you my art,
but you must be cunning, patient, ruthless and smart.
In years, I will give you a completely new life,
a soul that is useful, not foolish, cruel and trife."
...
Its been two years since my possessions and neighbors were torched,
I'm on a ranch in a uniform, receiving lectures on the man's front porch.
With four dozen others who have been recovered from tragedy,
hearing about our punishment, our old religions' fallacies.
"... its blasphemy not to help yourself before others,
you have the gift of life, and you're not everyone's mother.
Begin now, by recruiting people from the streets beneath us,
I'll take you to glory beyond stories if you make me your Jesus.
I was the one who brought you all here,
it wasn't your decision, I want that to be clear.
I have one final lesson to teach on my methods:
An offer of new life is a great first impression.
I was the one who torched your homes,
drained your bank accounts, stole your loans.
Broke your dreams, created your sadness,
and I know that to you at the time it seemed tragic,
but I've brought you to a new level, you don't need money.
You're free in a true sense, you're bloody and muddy...
but you value your life now, and work to help yourself,
and that is the gap between Heaven and Hell.
Please don't be scared of me, though my genius is rarity.
I can make you all see easily that through chaos comes clarity."
He chose the wrong moment, the mass instantly loathed him.
As the mob roared, his fate looked viciously morbid.
The horde's forces proceeded to violence and flourished.
We beat him and cut him, we snapped him and tore him.
In the end there were thousands of pieces of him like he was molting skin feathers.
His open flesh looked like spaghetti in incredible measure.
And suddenly it snapped, I put the entire thing together:
"damn that carcass was right, I feel a lot better!"