The Book of Dreams

I write it when I sleep, and I read it when I wake.

Sometimes these stories can be amazing or confusing, but every once in a while I come across a certain type of dream, a type that is rather quite frightening.

These stories I hate reading after writing, but I must do so if there is a chance, a chance that I will understand what is happening.

Sometimes these dreams become reality, or stay just fantasy.

But lately it seems, that the dreams I hate to read most, are the ones that will more often become real.

When these terrible dreams become real, often do I face horrific illusions or depressing thoughts. I am terrified of that mystical and mysterious book of dreams.

It pains me to know that what I read may become true, so I have decided to take action. I have decided to blur my mind from these depressing thoughts. In hopes that when I read next morning, my day might not be full of dread.

I need to lessen the influence of that book, the influence toward my thoughts. For soon I may no longer be able to resist its intentions.

I must rebel against it. Rebel against these horrible thoughts and emotions caused by that mystical and mysterious book of dreams.