Conflagration

I wake up in the night with sweat upon my brow.
The grasping hands of fear are still with me now.
The images don't fade with my awakening
and stay with me in darkness as though a living thing.

I see myself fall to the ground, lying on my back.
Someone calls 9-1-1. "He's had a heart attack."
Revival efforts fail.  No drug or machine
returns the spark of life. I'm pronounced on the scene.

Then the terror sets in. In my mind I'm still alive.
Somehow they must find this out if I am to survive.
They take me to the morgue; cold steel is my bed.
I'm covered in a sheet, tagged and left for dead.

I can hear the voices coming through the door.
I struggle to be heard. In my mind I implore
God to send a miracle, somehow set me free
but still I lay in darkness in my misery.

Seconds, minutes, hour – each an eternity.
Silently I cry out but no one comes for me.
I feel myself lifted and roughly carried out,
still I remain incapable of a simple shout.

I'm placed into a casket – my final resting place.
I've come to accept my fate with poise and grace.
I say my final prayers and try to cleanse my soul
knowing that my future is a darkened hole.

But something isn't right my senses all tell me:
a roaring sound and acrid smoke and then agony.
Embers dance before my eyes. I feel the flames of hell
and in this silent prison, I can't even yell.

As flesh melts from my bones and my fluids steam
I have a final thought – "This time it's not a dream."

Notes
An entry for "Out of The Fog Contest - Open March 1st" 
Line Count: 30