exerpt from my book "reversed"

There is earth around me. Brown like walnuts and black as rich soil caked to my tongue. Bitter- and wet. The callused palm of a hand who feels for my chest, and faded shouts above the hollow grave I have decided to lay buried in. And then I see my rainbow.
It is gentle, veiled in a senseless peace and blossomed with vibrant colors, new and unseen. Glossy shades of heavenly pastels with gleaming edges, rays of color spectrums that dance across my eyelids. So many people believe in light, airy winds of mighty hands that lay across the small of your back, ushering to move you up flight one of the golden staircase at the peak of marshmallow clouds. But I see a blend of blinding white dawn, and I turn myself over the wheel of the Nissan. The rainbow is gone.
In its place lies the lackluster of light. Foreign and uneasy, with a dark pitched claw that fingers the sides of my face and caresses the bone of my cheek. I cry out, reaching for audible, and the blue suits peer in through the dirt crusted opening. “Get me out of here!” I shriek with raspy breaths low moans. The fingers inch across my jaw line and the whispers begin, joined by a single, firm harmonic voice.
“Fires are the comforts in the wake of death! You have led nothing, done nothing, grime under fingernails spells the train of your footprints! The dark is a refuge, I am the refuge, wallows and cries I shelter; For at the peak of death my fingers draw you in, and I smile.” The nails sear the flesh against my nostrils.
“OUT! By heavens grace you worship angel, kicked from my gates I undermine all authority. OUT! You husband of evildoers, wicked soul and sin instiller. OUT!”
The fingers attached like suction cups are torn from bleeding flesh and relinquished. From the opening that showers dirt upon my brows, beacons will the black mass crevices.
“For where there are broken spirits, my touch restores all life. For those whose hearts are hardened, the fathers hand of nurture softens the bruises and bloody tissue. OUT! You futile demon! The scars of the generations ache in turmoil; dirt unearthed to seal the tombs of dying souls. I bring forth my warrior and wake her from prisons chambers. Be it known that when the dead arise and work the vineyards of servanthood for glorys namesake, my people shall recognize the name of the Lord.”