Word count: 2006 Words

I had a bizarre dream when I passed out the past few nights. I found myself in a room full of mirrors sort of a hall of mirrors to describe this -- where it would appear as an exhibit within a carnival funhouse within the cold of winter and the echoes of the hard coughing that come inside the depths of the rooms. The thoughts as they dwell inside which it is written as it is here -- the narrative being as one lays within the covers of the bed of the hotel overlooking the outskirts of Joliet and Rockdale, Illinois. Of what is there dwelling in the etchings of time that sleep becomes; that where it is in the funhouse of mirrors -- the dreams as they become from the sleep as it is penned before a weakened yet calmed hand.

Where in the darkness that the coughing can be heard -- loud enough to shatter the glass in the rooms. That comes in the dark that comes in the cold November night. Where one begins to describe this -- the words that come within the mind are the shadows of the vague. From which the dream is set -- the description could be similar to the hotel and a hospital where it is set up like a movie theater; the thoughts as it is being among the vague yet sketchy periods where the darkness is the most vivid. From the sleep are heard in the whispers of strangers -- where in the night of silence had been shattered by sounds of the coughing in the sense of the mind, the impaling of ones lungs.

Standing thoughts as they become from the sketchy and vague descending from the shadow of the maelstrom. Where one would become nervous from the state of illness, fevered thoughts but chilled to the bone without the fevered signs. That comes in the eyes as where it is written from the eyes of the scribe who sleeps from the illness -- of the waning hours of the daylight fade to night. The burning of air which lurks in the gasping the life which coughs away the soul of the waking hours. From the times that come in the years among the dreams and horrors among the shadows in the theater of the dantes inferno; the thoughts in the eyes staring in the eyes of the sleeping scribe.

Deeper in the shadows where one descend from the depths as they are inked out from the sleep of dreams -- the pages induced from the medicated slumber as they pen into the narratives from the being in the shadow of time. Understanding as it comes being from the drug induced sleep knowing that comes from the dreams -- the sketchy details which are among the unknown. From this in the mind in the sleep as one slips into -- the becoming from the thoughts inside the dreams they dwell within the Stygian sleep. Where one would hear the prayers of the saints begging for the moon to pass away -- the pleas for the darkness to die, asking for the sick and illness to forever cease. Beneath the shadows as the deafening sounds of the impaling cough comes in the eyes as the pain before the eyes.

Foreboding minds -- as one sleeps from the dark transcending into the waning daylight. I stand looking from the death of the light comes the things that dwell, knowing from the dreams among the Stygian mind -- where the thoughts alone within the landscape of Hades. All that is seen in the sleep from the dreams being the maelstrom of disease -- the words asking from the faith to the illness to die; only for the sickness to become even more acute. Illness laden -- the thoughts as they become before the dreams of the unborn fetus, the words coming from the scribe which sleeps beneath the hours of transcending the infinite dreams. From the related nightmares as they are seen in the hall of mirrors that within the theater of dante's inferno that the dreams are showcased in the forlorning sleep.

In which described from a medicated sleep, and a drugged mind being from the descending dreams from the maelstrom. As it is seen in the dream that I saw the reflecting of myself from the second person -- looking inside the ill-laden state. I become from the sleep the words as they become inked into the surfaced psyche. Confining in the surface seen within the mind as one sleeps the dreaming becomes more evident. While it is written with a weakened hand, induced by illness and medicated thoughts. Deeper from the senses that drawn from the sleep and the dreams being in the medicated eyes looking back from the lucid hours of slumber.

Where it comes in the darkness of the skies that become from the sleep -- the pages as the darkness becomes. In the shadows that come -- the death cold being in the patterned thoughts. Where the dreams -- sketchy in their details are in the dark of the mind. The thoughts as they are -- they become from the narratives of the vague. The way one would have to put their finger on it in the sense of that the dream stages take one into a place that one cannot describe if they were wide awake but it would have to come close to the place of the River Styx. In the depths of the mind which the darkness crawls -- the cinema of the Dante's Inferno which draws from the nightmares written into the setting ink.

Where it is in the vague the thoughts being as the dream descends from the sleep where the dreams were non-existent. The pages as they are written from the sketchy details that come from the night hours of the waking then the day hours of the dreams with a sleep which produces none unless it is induced by the chemical influence. Descending -- the thoughts as they are dwelling and dwindling from the sleep as they remain, the lucid nightmares that follow from the falling inside the dream where all the coughing had been heard. Deeper in the sketchy vague thoughts -- the dreams which are seen from the waning daylight into the dawning darkness. Where one from the faith as they pray for the dark to pass it is from the dreams drawn out from the darkness that ear shattering sounds of the hard coughing is heard -- the nerve racking coughs of a ill-ladened mind.

The stark descriptions of which being from the hospital and the hotels being that one can hear the vitals of the next room fading from the neighboring bed. Where one can hear the faint breathing of the one sleeping in the next room over -- the sleep which comes before their death in their mind, the question as it is there when I proceeded to cough that comes in the mind of the ones who die in their sleep -- the dreams that are there before they pass. Where they find themselves wandering among the passed on dead but their spirit has not known that they have been dead. Where one would proceed to here the silence of whispers as they gather in the calm of sleep.

This as it is what remains -- the thoughts as they are so vague in the mind of the frail. It is in the cold shadow that comes in the mind when I would sleep in the room within the sleep clinic -- that the sleep that was dreamless would be just as vivid of the thoughts about the dream that was there in the mind beneath a frail body from the weeks of the coughing. Where in the coughing between the short slumbers without the dreams to the one that lead up to what is being written of the narrative while the ink dries. In the thoughts tormenting that comes in the background heard from the sermons of the television preachers bellowing, "you are healed, now take this healing ye sick -- you are healed."

Words that cannot be found enough to describe the shadow behind the hall of mirrors but in the hall of mirrors one can see the reflection of the one coughing up blood. The image of the grotesquely ill being from the coughing of blood; the dreams as they are in the remains of the mind -- the thoughts as they remain in the ashes of a forlorn sleep; from the vague pages of the hall of mirrors that come in the shadow of the mind -- the pages that come in the sleep of the pages as they remain. The dream as it is written -- where I write this now as the weakened frame of mind as I was proceeded to cough away the strength that I had. Between the eyes as they see; where I watch between the hall of mirrors.

That comes in the thought -- the words as they are in the sleep that become startled within the eyes that come. The words that follow in the dreams that are of the vague the words the become -- the dreams that follow from the ill-induced sleep. Where the thoughts that become in the sleep being in the eyes of the shadows of light. Where it comes in the ill-shadows that come in the eyes that stare before the shadowed eyes -- the thoughts that become in the skies that fade before sickness. Where it is written before the mind the thoughts before the dreams fade to a shade of black. Into the sleep which comes -- the dream descending the void of mind.

Knowing. It comes from the eyes of the knowing from the eyes of the sick -- the thoughts of the sick as they are there. The thoughts as they are in the sleeping. Where I look in the mind of the sleep as the words being in the mind where they are written -- the pages in the journal, inked and written before the dreams as the ink slowly dries. I would see the mind of the eyes as they are written in the sleep that comes before the induced medicated slumber before the mind. That comes in the silence of the tomorrows and the years that follow -- in the months that fade in the shadows of time. In the sleep where it follows from the hours that wane; where it is in the sleep descending from the night -- in the dreams that comes within the sleep, describing the medicine-induced sleep transcending from the dreams that become.

In the sketchy details that come about in the thoughts -- the dreams as they are written there before the sleep as it comes with the coughing, the hard coughing that impale the ribs as a rattler biting and injecting into the bloodstream. It comes between the mind and the sketchy details as they appear between a pair of bloodshot, ill-ladened eyes -- the dreams as they are written out in the surface of the being that comes in the darkness within. That comes when the codeine-induced sleep becomes the reflecting mind of the stir of echoes. That comes of the sleep -- that becomes of the dreams shadowing the unknown. The dreams as they are inked reflect upon the dreams of the ancients.

Where it comes in the thoughts transcending -- descending from the codeine induced sleeps that come in time when the hours fade. Where in the sleep that comes within the Codeine influenced dreams; descending further into the darker eyes sleeping. The Codeine induced depth, where it comes in the shadows of the stairwells staring back in the eyes of the dead -- in the eyes of the sick that comes in the dark remains. Within in the thoughts from the dwelling as I slip between the waking into the time within the passing sleep. Passing slumber of the eyes which open the gates of the bizarre dreams that come among the darkening majestic -- the patterns descending from the blacker cosmos; from the thoughts of which are the defining sleep of years.