The thoughts which would be in the mind would be of the dreams that would be in my sleep — the dream which I best describe as a winter funeral. That funeral that I had not been able to go to almost ten years ago; the death of a classmate that I keep seeing in the dream and finding myself asking the question, “Does it hurt when you die?” This is the one that I had since I was thirteen years old but each time I have this one; details in the dream become more haunting — much darker in detail. It is one where I had seen myself at different points in time, when I was thirteen I saw myself at 26 or even 25 years old. The one who had never shed a tear during a funeral — when one shows no more tears; when in the faith that I had been taught to believe never knowing when it would be. The questions that I seek the answers to but will never find them. When it would be in the questions that would forever be left to be; after when there are no more tears.
Unable to sleep because the thoughts that would be in the mind after the things in the mind would never fade away; from it would be when I look in the mirror and in my dream, death would be in the reflection. It would be when I am not able to see, almost in the state of mind where I am eternally blind — as would it appear when my eyes would be sewn shut. Knowing inside when I look at my reflection; feel always like the walls are closing in — claustrophobic paranoia; all who would see in the mind and the shadows would be the fucking prayers that would go unanswered and voices in the mind are screaming and asking, “why?” Closing in the horror which would stand alone, after when one had been buried for 11 years; the questions of his death would be — that question is, “why did he choose to appear to me in my dreams and haunting nightmares.”
It was while I was nineteen years old when the dreams became more vivid, and felt that I had wanted to visit where he was buried — more or less to ease my mind. But time passed and never had the chance to visit his grave; his burial plot. In the time when I would look at a blank page trying to write out the thoughts in my mind before I would slip off into slumber. When I would go camping; I would look at the stars thinking about the ones I had known who had passed on or the neighbor who died of a murder in 1993 — I sometimes ask myself if they still visit the area where they were while they were among the living after they sleep in their grave. I don’t always have the answers and sometimes questioned if my faith ever had the answers or the years that I had spent going to Bible studies had the answers — not even God had the answers. That if one had been told that death was only the beginning and being lied to by the followers that I was not sick when I was truly sick; sick in the sense that I could not know what was happening to me — the changes which were happening at a violent pace.
Though when I would look through my old written pages of the journal I kept from 1995 thru 1997. From it would be in the questions in which I asked myself would invoke the dreams that would be which I am writing now — all the period when I had been homeless from August 22, 1998 thru until November 17, 1998, there were periods where I did not sleep for days and walked through the night hours well into the daylight. It would be from that would I have the nightmares — that would be when one would see the traumatic changes that would be in the mind; the illness which grows inside as an emotional cancer. It would be the inner thoughts which would be from the reflections of the decade passed racing in my mind and the horror which grows inside. The many questions I would ask myself and the time when I had tried to seek out help from a religious leader but he was not much help for me — only as I tried to ask him, the nightmares became much stronger and more horrific. It would be the dream I had two nights before I was stabbed would be the one that be the most haunting — the one where the Wallace kid came to my dream and said I would be joining him soon. I had no idea what he meant by that — it was as frightening as my friend, Rich’s dream, where he saw me writing and while I would write he would be living the horror that I was writing.
It would be the best way to describe it — in the horror and the gospel truth which I begin to relate here; as fucking frightening as it would be. The thoughts which are god damning in the way which would be when I keep having this person in my mind saying that a nightmare should not be written. From this would be in the driving nightmares which are written if someone had enough sense to blow my fucking brains out; but yet still, I am still here now — that it would be while still I am not able to sleep it would be the dream that I had when I did sleep still playing out while I am writing this narrative. In still while I had gone to revivals and Bible meetings when I was eighteen, I tried the fucking best I could to block out the nightmares and the haunting thoughts which would be — after one would have no more tears. That question asking in my mind, “Does it hurt when one dies?” It would be in their eyes that they would not see the torment that I am going through; that in the nightmares thru the thoughts which are written here that I best could describe the horror in the thoughts which would be while the nightmares are there. That in the eyes which see the world around them that I am aged thirteen years older emotionally though physically I am twenty-five years of age. From it would be in the questions which would; the question of why — the why the dreams started at such a young age. When I had gone to funerals and never shed a tear — now showing no more tears.
The description which would be when in the dreams which are written; that in the blackness of the void that shadows the inner mind. In the belief which walks in a straight line but yet it grasps itself in a circle like the millennium snake. From it would be — in the dream which is best described that lasted a decade. That in the time which had passed — it would be in the frame which the nightmares are there but are in the mind of the woman who would sleep for months at a time, and her timeless slumber would be from which the dreams in the mind that are written. From the thoughts written are the definition which are inside — that when the words are described as this; the questions which are left in the mind gather over time. From in the dreams which I look in the mirror and see that death is looking back at me; haunting and harrowing as it would seem. Which would be in the questions that would be in the asking thoughts — that in what is known after the doors have been opened but in the mind which it would lock in the nightmare. That nightmare; the one where I am standing in a winter’s funeral. From it would be that it would stand alone in the thoughts of the mind — exploring the dark exile as it would be described; that in the emptiness. It would be from this emptiness which it would stand alone as one is not dead but not yet dreaming.
Of the memories which would be in my past — that all which is left that is in the lasting mind, the lasting nightmare. When the thoughts in the mind begin to rumble as an earthquake. From which the nightmares are after the headaches begin; the reflection in the mirror I see which I look into the windows of the soul — when one sees the reflection it is not their own. This peek — a glimpse of would be the window of the mind is one where the true horrors reflect the fear impending; that it would be in the image of the opened wrists when they are sliced downward and carved the words “sinner” each arm. In the course of nightmarish questions written in the mind as I would stand in the dreams which depict a winter’s funeral. As the blood would flow from carved words, in the death that bleeds — which it would be as one would look in the reflection which is not their own. In the nightmare gospel which are documented — the haunting thoughts which would stand between the waking world and the view in the eyes of the nightmares. As I would walk around in the dark, from it would be described — insomnia would ingest the mind as a being by itself as one would stand alone. When I know even the nightmares are placed from keystrokes to word processor; my eyes are swollen and bloodshot.
It would be the haunting thoughts that are written in the mind which are in the sickness; which it would be in the nightmare storm within the mind as one would settle down for the evening — though it would be as one’s night would be during the day, sleep in the hours of a vampire. The thoughts which are there — waiting as I would try to drift off and close my eyes but could only see the horror that would be waiting after the winter’s funeral. In the blackest emotions which would be while one begins to dream; heavy eyes staring at the flickering light of the keyboard. Among the thoughts which would be waiting — the shadowing dreams stand in the cold winds blowing in the darkness of the early December night. From in the dark which would describe the winds as the songs of the siren; from the words which had been written between the lines — the teachings that I had been told never to question drawn themselves out in the words which storm around inside; deeper in that one knows. In when the sleep would begin when the dream would end is only as the unknown only knows. Heavier eyes which are looking in the mirror — in a tormented trance-like state one would see when the deity looks back at them, and the reflection is not their own. After when everything goes without a single notice; when everything dies — that it would be in the thoughts which are sitting and written at the touch of the keys.
When one would walk around between the land of the awakening and realms of the dead. That in the words which are written and scorned; I look at the corner of my eye and he stood about 30 feet from me — at the corner of my eye. Even when I had met the troop of Christians from Faith World Outreach — one of them told me that I should not even visit his tomb; some of the congregation were actually afraid of me for some reason. Not for the idea that I am a thinking man; but for the things that I would come out and write on a blank page. From it would be — turning the page as one would look in the nightmares that are written out and brought to the open; from the writings which would be in the haunting thoughts. As this is written — it would remain, only in the mind which it would be in the documentation as I would type out this solitary journal. It would be in the darkness which is between death and hell; within the nightmares written inside the haunted thoughts.
