Of what stands in the dreams of an infant child before they become a stillborn,  that falls among the sleep when it stirs into stillbirth.  All that remains after the dream ends among the death and forgotten — that of what remains of the dreams that dwell among the darkness of a 26 year old scribe.   That stands in the dreams being within the sleep of the stillborn.   Among the riddles within the pages of the writer,  the dreams as they are written from the perspective of the stillborn.  Where it remains among the illness and sleep,  the drugs inducing the coma which lead to the dream as one sees the horrors of the last hours.  
       In the thoughts that are dead and gone, the dreams that remain — where I lift the pen for the life of me,  everything seen from my eyes and through the perspective of the stillborn.  All that comes within the nightmares that come around inside the patterns of the sleep — leading into the hours of a coma.   Stirring inside of the mind, that comes around in the cycles of the deceased and dreaming — all that remains in the dreams of a stillborn.  That comes among the hours of time that pass from the present to past, past to the future’s demise.   Turning inside looking,  seeking as from the shadows of light reflect the darkness of truth.   Narratives seen from a perspective of the stillborn’s eyes.
       Dwelling and dwindling from the perspective of the doctors pulling the stillborn from the womb, the nightmares that come and found in the cycle of death and life.  Where not even the God of the saints can see as the nightmares dwell among the sleep,  as where the prayers come in the shadow of the empty.  Knowing that it comes from the life within the dreams as the nurse proceeds to fall into her exhaustion induced sleep.  As from the sleep which she lay within a burial position which the dream shall take a form of its own,  sharing inside the perspective of the 26 year old scribe.
      As from the perspective in the nightmares,  telling from the eyes of the nurses while they dream — the horror told among the dreams seen from the perspective of the writer.   From this as I put into the words of the record of the dream, where I heard the cries of the stillborn laying within the chapel of the hospital.  That where the child had no movement,  it still was dreaming still — but to the touch,  cold as the dead.   From where I saw the nurse asleep within the hospital’s walls, that I was walking around within the dream where no other man or woman had began to dream — as the dark of the mind is seen in the perspective of the stillborn’s sleep.  Left from all that is in her dream and the dream of the writer,  which is among the shadow of the raptured thoughts.    Among the pages as one pens,  the shifting on the couch, lays the sleeping nurse — from the dreams among her mind one cannot tell the patterns of them.   Time as it brings a shadow of its own — where everything is seen from the points of view of the stillborn and the sleeping nurse as she remains covered with bedding from the rooms.
       Into the sleep of the stillborn infant as the demise leads into the reflection of a dream as it draws into the realms of the utterly perverse.  Though the stillborn’s eyes were moving but no breathing,  illness which draws from the dreams and the coma in the mind.  As drawn from the dreams within the nurse’s sleep — as her dreams drawn from her covered body after the shifts end of hearing the crying of the stillborn.
      From her dreams that I was brought into the dark of her sleep — the sense of the dreaming being in the patterns of the horror within, drawing in the sense of the dream as one sees the darkness from the stillborn’s mind.  Where she was shifting around on the couch under the layers of bedding which were put over her because of illness which plagued her.   From in my eyes as heard of the child’s whimpering along with hers as the dream proceeds from her coma state.  As from in her cocoon of bedding from the other wings in the place,  where one describes the dreams as it surfaces inside the mind of the one who is writing this.   While in the shadow of her dream,  which is where I am walking among them as my sleep is soon to follow.  All that is left and gone,  in the eyes that are in the dreams of their comatose rest.   Seeping thru the hours as the sleep fades into the dreams within a coma as one hears the cries of the stillborn infant.   Among the surreal dreams where I heard her silent whimpering as she shifted from her side to her back and back to her side again,  seemed as she was having a nightmare as I was being pulled into it.
      In the state where the sedatives induced the hours of sleep which wane within the daylight hours into the hours of nightfall.   Among the dreams drawn from the bastardized sleep,  that it is in the mind of the truly tormented where one sees the perspective of the stillborn.   As one sees themselves, after their sleeping state falls into the void of everything before them — as where the closer to the description of hell as one can get where one sees it from the dreams of a sleeping stillborn.   Among the horror drawn out from her sleep and where I stand watching,  as in observation of the whimpering sounds as she lays on the couch with the stillborn on her chest.
      Deeper in the shadow within the dreams of their mind, as the body whimpers in the state of their dreams taking them into the realms they don’t want to wake from.   In the narrations as one pens from them,  the dream as it inhabits the sleep patters of their unseen darkness.   Patterns as the walking among the dreams which are inside,  where I pick the pen to write them — being in their random, tormented stages that I found myself standing within the dream of a sleeping nurse.   From her transitional stages as her dreams become the sense of the narrative that I got pulled into,  as one sees the stillborn resting next to her as she shifted to a burial position.
     The transition from her sleep into the dream was one that stirs within the shared sleep cycle — that which lays within the mind of the stillborn.   Dreams as they stir telling in the mind of the one who is writing the narrative from the patterns of their sleep — the telling of which stands within the walls of the hospital when the winters sky reflect the dream as it is there.   From the thoughts stirring in the mind — among the shadowed dreams being in the sense of everything that is deceased and gone.   Telling among the pages, describing the dreams from the perspective of the stillborn and the nurse who has the appearance of being deceased when she sleeps.   In the dream drawn from her sleep as one sees the observation,  where they have no idea what they were dreaming or if they know what or where it would take them.
      Among the eyes that are looking at their own eyelids and moving — the dream as it is there within her mind, the nightmare that foreshadows what was written from the eyes of the ill sleeping.   From the darkness of their tranquility stirring inside their state of sleep,  yet within a dark lucidity that she had no idea of what she was dreaming.    As from the dreaming in her sleep,  that she hears the cries from the one that was stillborn.   As one sees the nightmares,  in the eyes of the writer who’ve seen them thru the perspective of the stillborn. Suffocated thoughts among the dreams as they become — from the sleep of the resting nurse in the cocoon of hospital sheets on the couch in the interns room.  I pen of this from the eyes of the stillborn, that would be among the mind of a 26 year old who drifts into the dream as the sleep stirs them into the altered phases.  
      In the states of when her dream begins — the shadow of the mind draws from the memory of a spiral stairwell.  As she would walk around looking at her sleeping body beneath a cocoon of sheets,  in the dream she was wearing a greyish-black gown.  That of where she was looking at her body resting in a burial position,  she did not appear if she was even sleeping — being in the place she was laying on the couch was similar to how they would place them on a morgue tray.  Though as she slept there, the stillborn was there upon her chest like she was the mother of the child.  She appeared covered as a corpse but the only part of her body that wasn’t covered was her face.   Where she was looking into my eyes,  the question appeared in the sense of what was I doing within her nightmares.
      Where I found myself in the shadow of the dreams as they were — among the illness which brings about the cycles of sleep induced by medication, and the crying of the stillborn is the every present sound being heard along with the quiet whimpers of the nurse in her sleep.  From the time within the sleep as one drawn from the detail of the shared dream through the eyes of the stillborn;  as the drawing from the dream — in the period where I heard the whimpering nurse while she murmured in her sleep.   Among the thoughts which brings from the mind as I put the pages to the paper from the dream as they describe the patterns of the nightmares.   As one describes from the vague — yet they would be the thing that are the described within the dark staircase;  among the pages from knowing, descending from where she could not tell the pattern from the dream as one observes them.
     Waiting for the sleep to cease as the dreams of the stillborn rest before the eyes of the writer and the sleeping nurse.  The stirring thoughts within the mind as the horror within the soul is wandering again as the dreams stir inside the cycles of sleep.  The pages stir from the dreams among the sands of the tundra within the dreams of the sleeping nurse.   From all that is gathered among the shadows’ sands,  being from the dreams that are among the patterns stirring in the vague — being in the horrors stir among the senses of the perspective of the stillborn.   As it becomes among the dream within the sleeping nurse, and the writer who records the one perspective in the eyes seen through themselves.   From patterns dwelling among the questions in time when the dreams of the stillborn are seen through the eyes of the nurse as she sleeps and the writer who records the details of the dream.   Among the sense of the thoughts of the one who is writing this — the eyes of them are seen through patterns of the emotionally disturbed. 
     Becoming all that is left among the lost and gone,  telling as from one writes of them within the sleeping mind as the dreams stir within the waking mind.   Patterns of the waiting and gone inside the sleep of the mind — where the dream of the vague slowly follows the body of the ill.   In the times that drawn from the hours of the long being within the dreams of the vague — patterning from the sleep of the nurse in the semi-coma.  Even from when she rested among the patterns of the dream,  in the hours of the semi-coma that draws from the sequence of the dreams indicated.  As from the fading hours which bring the description among the hours of her dreams within a burial sleep,  among the twisted logic of their dreams.   As from the generational sleep,  she could begin to realize that she was dreaming — nor the hours that draw from the long nights as one drifts into the sleep.  From the dreams one can touch the spirits of the parted death;  where of I pen this — from the perspective is not of my own.