Since I had just got my train ticket,  I had some bizarre dreams as of the recent days.   As of the recent I had known of the train accident of 1999 where an Amtrak slammed into a semi truck;   which it would take from the descending details that I find myself in one of the cabins as it is on the train where the deceased walked.   Where I would see in the dream that there was an opening where the cabin had jack-knifed;  among the blacker illusions as it appears when one closes their eyes that they would believe that it is not there.  Only as they would say that it is there — the decayed bodies walking among the living and the dead.    Among the dead it is vivid and evident where it had been among the documented,  the travelling ghost tale as it is there staring back.   In the words which come to the bizarre, perhaps as it is staring back as a mirror that it should not be written because of the upbringing one had been taught to believe.
     Even if one travels beyond the walls of sleep,  the questions that are there which perch upon the tired imagination at it torments one where they would never grow old because they had passed on in their youth.   In the words looking back at the darkness within the chain of fools;  this is where the train itself passed the town where it is beyond the wall of sleep.  While it comes as I had awakened from this while studying that train ticket where it comes to the thought as it is there — with the questions that are asked over time;  where one would see the images beyond the sleeping village.  From the eyes of the writer who lives in the Midwest, the haunting ghost stories that would remain inside the walls as they are written upon them.  It is on the writings on the wall;  where it’d came in the questions I study from the pages and the reports of the crash of that train going down to New Orleans.
     The thoughts as they are written had taken a little bit of finger;  that in the little bit of finger where it is taken.  Among the words as they are penned — I stare at them with a blank face.  In the blank face where I would see this,  one knows in the mind it is not there but when they close their eyes — they deeply know they are.   As it is in the walls where I see the writings — that among the eyes as I would see it;  questions as they are documented.  The footsteps as they are heard,  getting louder and louder still — it appeared to be that my cabin was the very cabin of one of the deceased eleven.   Among the exiled thoughts as they appeared among the dreams as they’ve remained.   Time would only remain as it’d kept the record of the travelling ghost tale; where one comes in the thoughts as the details remained — one hears the silent screams,  in the silent screams as one sees the blood covered bodies walking through the hallways.
     While looking through the windows into the darkness,  the questions of what comes when the moon shines in the beginning.   I don’t despise the moon just that some would curse what it brings to the blacker surface.  I lay there in the cabin when the light of the moon becomes brighter as the darkness around me grows — the louder of the footsteps as they are among the thoughts within the mind as one became slowly into going within the state of being driven mad.  In the thoughts as it’d came among the pages staring back.  Of such a morbid description of such;  when as I would rest in the cabin of the sleeper car.  It comes among the time when I had fallen to rest,  though it had the details drawn out in demonic and unearthly detail.   From this I asked myself if this dream is prophetic type of nightmare of something is going to happen when I am on the road or just what comes out of a distorted psyche.
     Could I see or think but now the question is there and locked;  the weariness as it remains among the horrors that is told of the travelling ghost tale beyond the walls of sleep.  The image of one of the eleven going around in my cabin and the hallways of where they were at the nightfall — between somewhere in time that had strike the toll of  midnight.  In the silence among the striking toll one hears them walking around but the blood from the footprints are what are not seen yet the smell of death’s decay is around.  As it comes with the nightmares that are there as another writer said he hated the moon, where he despised it;  which is where I embrace what the moon brings though the morbid visions that follow close behind are what haunt the mind as one writes of the dreams that becomes among the sleep.  Written thoughts upon the eyes as they see what the moon brings.   Before my eyes as the sight of one would describe as being unearthly frightening — the sound of the footsteps had left traces of blood.
     I heard the unearthly passengers saying this is where they get off and heard the sound of the train derailing and jack-knifing into the rest of the cars.  I heard the horrifying sound of twisting metal as it tumbled over itself a few times;  as it comes when the moon passes over — that I see them walking the hallways at night the smell of stale blood and rigor mortis had drowned out the rest of the air around me.  Horror crawls deeper inside as the thoughts come about slowly as one hears them from in the silence as the growing horror crawls from the fear as is inside the mind and death trails close behind.  For the love of God,  that it would come as time drawn upon the hours where the death becomes evident — the eleven who dies;  the eleven which walk among the living and the dead where hell is not evident.
     Descending — coming where one would find themselves beneath layers of ice that it’d been described as such among the nightmares as they are there.   In the haunting details as they would seem among the black illusions after what comes following after the moon,  when one forbids what the moon brings.  Darker thoughts as they descend among the horror as it comes along inside while one is not dead but dreaming, awake yet sleeping.  Where one could hear their whispering; one could hear the voices of the dead as they are trying to speak to the living as they travel the same route down to the South.  Of the tormented thoughts that are among the horror as it is spoken;  the questions over time that it comes as the thoughts are there among the dead is that if God was watching, why did he allow them to die.
     Heads in their hands when blood flows from their eyes — and in the glass that breaks impaling their arms at death throwing them around in the cabin upon their premature burial.  As it comes when the darkness spawns — in the matter where the moon brings the horror into the nocturnal dreams as they’d slowly appeared as they had disappeared without a trace.  Upon the eyes as they see that is not really there, now here am I — where it stands among the thoughts that comes before their nightmare;  coming as the descent of the darkness as it walks with the living.   Horror as it walked with the living — the graphic and vivid;  where it comes as the thoughts are painted black.  Upon the night are evident,  when it comes with the darkness shared over New Orleans and the Midwest;  where it stands inside the mind as the nightmares grow.
     Among the mechanics of the fear as it is written,  in the mechanical horrors as appears in the back of the mind I’ve seen the madness grew from the horror.  That horror — inside the mind of what the moon brings.   I hate what is said by the preachers about what is said of what grows with the darkness;  beneath their skin.  I  —  from the eyes as it is written from my eyes about the dream as it is seen before me, where the reflections of the past appear in the darker reflections as they are written.  Of them — descent into the depths of the horrors as they come walking with the footprints of their own blood as they are coming from the cabins.   When there is no question — among the dreams and nightmares where there’s many to ask.  Among the deaths that walk among with their ghosts as seen in the dreams,  those dreams as the nightmares appear before them.
     In my mind I was thinking,  “what the fuck? I cannot see this — I am definitely dreaming — must be having a nightmare, and have to awaken.  The fuck is with the odor — the smell of death.  It is so strong and numbing,  one cannot help but choke upon the combination of the rotting blood and their vomit.”  In the question as it is there,  I write of the nightmare as I am there in the present tense — but what had happened was in March of 1999.   It’d come along within the dreams as I had obtained the ticket to go down to New Orleans that it reveals the gothic vision.   Descent into the hells of the mind as it stands written — black as the night as the day as the eleven had died.  Blood upon the walls appeared in the cabin of the eleven — that in the eleven who had died in the incident where it slammed into the semi-truck.
     Derailed — it comes to the description as it is within the sleep that it is among the derailed thoughts.  Derailed — I would take and write of the nightmare as graphic as it would appear in the mind while the eleven dead would walk the halls of the derailed.   Dead among the thoughts as they are there in the tormenting of the mind and the torment as it remains among their ashes.  Among the horrors,  that are written inside as I record the graphic details of the dream as they are written out — the horrors that are there when the footprints in blood are in the hallways of derailed train.   I — the question which stands as it is written in my mind,  standing alone in the nightmares describing in the horror as they are written.  Fatality — it comes as the thoughts as they are looking back at the ones who they left behind.   
     Of the thoughts which had remained — that in the nightmares are written and stand among the pages that are looking back.   As I had been able to sleep when the clouds come to the sky and darkening the sun,  I was able to sleep — though it would come as the surface of the mind is frozen from the horror as it remains among the nightfall with the derailed.   As it comes with the falling of the light of the moon, it comes among the various, yet utterly perverse horrors. Unnamable — it is where one cannot even really describe the nature where I would see their return of the cabin where I am suppose to call my quarters for the overnight.  In the oblivion as it appears in the back of the mind,  horrors as it is seen in the psyche as it is written in the terror in the depths of the tormented soul. When all nightmares are written in the sleep as it is derailed — derailment of the thoughts as they are there among the tormented. 
     Derailment;  from the derailed horrors as it is written among the mind,  among the horrors descending into the blacker chasm.  That chasm which is seen in the mind,  that in the dream as it descends deeper from the horror.  That if it comes within the surfaced horror inside,  descending that it is in the mind — the questions hidden in the madness spiralling;  in the horrors of the mind as the moon wanes away.  Derailed, coming off the tracks as it comes in the horrors as it paints the blood in the dreams.   It comes in the dreams and the sleep that would come among the blacker skies.  In the horrors and the dream when it becomes derailed — as the madness flies off the rails.   As it would come — I find myself awakened back in my bed — the hour of 2 o’clock in the afternoon.
      Indeed it was in the 2 o’clock hour that I had came around after being doped up with the Tylenol PM and the Alluna since 5 PM the prior night — the thoughts are of the trip that I am about to take in less than the next month.  Even with the trip down I thought I had to write of the nightmare that reflected the horror as the derailed remained.  I knew in the thoughts it remains among the twisted and contorted as a contortionist locked in a small box.  Indeed — from the truth as it is written of the nightmare that I had drawn to be very nervous, as a mouse in a tank with a snake knowing that it is going to die. As fucked up as it is — one would know for sure in the harrowing truth of how many died a few months ago in the past year,  where so many had became entombed by the crumbling landmark.
       In the hours that came descending from the dream that I must take into nervous description, among the horrors as they are written out onto the screen glowing back in the darkness.   In the thoughts as they glow from in the mind as they are staring back at me with a pair of black eyes of their own — as the cold it feeds upon the mind of the one who is in a quiet sleep.  In the horror as it stands alone, where in the dream that I am writing among the derailed thoughts transcending.  Among the dreams that would remain of the lifeless as the fucked remains — it’d stand as true to the word,  fucked,  it is in the sense that when one has a dream of this nature the best way to described it as being so fucking disturbing that one cannot even begin to find the words.
       As fucked as one describes,  it is among the graphic truth where it stands that horror fact is more disturbing than the fiction it inspires as such.  It is from the words written among the pages as horror fact which is in the mind as the nightmare as one writes here, becomes the narrative of a tormented mind.  Knowing in the mind that it would stay when the clouds fall and the darkness comes,  when one would slip into their sleep that it stays as stated upon a written page as what I am writing here.