Wednesday, November 13, 2013

Dream Talks # 2


 
Without much context, I’ll disclose another dream segment I had endured over the subsequent weeks.
 
I’m running away from some entity in a foreign complex pied-à-terre, a blacken sludge that gaily hugs over the chalky floorboards is right behind me, with the corridor lights altering their hue to a watery blue. My five year old lumber jacket is torn from the left side, cotton spilling out with each step, as I search for an exit from this insanity. My left hand cups a corroded blade of an unidentified fabricator, whilst my right clutches on several loose bloody documents.

 

A loose parquet trips me onto my weaken knees, letting out several creaks of the bones. I seize a prompt glimpse over my shoulder, seeking out for its form to surface. My own eyes seem to relish in no conspicuous movements from beyond the veil of darkness. Just as I bring myself back up from beneath, while retrieving several fallen leaflets, a stream of the gunge ejects out en route for my midsection. Without much deliberation I directly block it with my right hand, feeling each fingertip instantly being drain and replaced with its coarse substance.

 

Repeatedly I attempt to scrap the excruciating incursion onto the ground, but to no avail. Throbbing resonances of pulsating eyes were emerging below the skin, as well as severe vibrations taking over the useless fingers brought their control away from me.  Left with no other choice within the matter, it took one fell motion of the blade to extinguish the injections.  The fingertips fling out in several directions, each one sprouting tendons to run away on the walls.

 

As a pool of blood drizzles out of the newly created wounds, I notice a blue bottle cap floating in the middle of the crimson liquid.

 

*Awake*

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