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I'm a beginning writer and my favorite thing to do is write about my dreams. My nightmares. Just something to show to the world that I have what it takes to be some one instead of a nobody.

Message to Readers

I'm just looking for anything to make my writing better. If there is anything wrong with it at all, please write it down. Thank you have a great day!

Dreams of Fear

November 25, 2019

PROMPT: Dual Existence


GROUP: True Stories

As I lay down in a bed made of clouds, I dream a dream of terror and worry
In my sleep I wish for safety
A lady in white opens my doors and grabs my hand as she drags me to the floor
I’m in my hallway filled with doors leading to my memories
Awful memories of the past
I look in embarrassment and disappointment
All these memories that I thought I buried, but yet they still last
The lady in white grasps my shoulders
And Shoves me into a door

It’s dark and blurry like an empty alley in New York at Midnight
It’s as cold as snow and my breathe is as clear as day
A voice says “Change your ways”
Suddenly a past memory of me rushes into the alley in anger and sadness
He digs through the draw and grabs the razor
Banging on the door grows louder and louder 
As his heartbeat starts pounding like a drum until he is numb

Screams of horror and tears of shock strike him like spears
As the mother breaks into the room a bright light shines
I’m back in the hallway of past memories
The ceiling starts leaking water
It’s raining tears of those who I’ve hurt
Those who will never forgive me
The hallway starts to flood and waves crash against me like the Sea

The tears of innocent people fill the hallway as I’m chained to the bottom
A voice says “Your ribs are nothing but an empty cage”
I’m drowning. I’m crying for forgiveness 
As I’m down to my last breathe, the sea of tears rush out of a hole

When I’m out of the hole I fall and slam onto the cold ground
I see a girl sitting against a wall
She’s talking on the phone to someone. She says “I trust you”
It's me that she's talking to
I fall to my knees and look at my hands only to see blood
It’s pouring out of the palm of my hands
I look up to see the lady in whites face
But it is not her. It’s a man in black
His eyes glowing red and his hood covering half his face
He grabs the palm of my hands and stabs them
I’m back in the hallway
He looks at me then the end of the hallway which leads to my real room

As I look at my room and see myself sleeping
He walks to my motionless body and strikes my chest 6 times with 3 fingers
I wake up in a panic and look at my hands. My chest. Myself. 
It was a message. But what kind of message? 
A message from Satan himself? Or God?
This poem is dedicated to my 2 friends that have sadly pass away. R.I.P Mario & Erik you will be missed.


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