It is in the mind which sits the horror that waits to be written, that would be inside of the nightmares of one's soul. The truth of what is written would be that of one which a testimony reflects a nightmare that looks in the thoughts -- as when the one falls asleep and the dreams await for them in the night. That would be in the cold winds of a November afternoon and the brief slumber within the woods -- one was doped up on sleep aids and could not really function without sleep. It is in a dark revelation that would be written among them -- the words that would be in the mind when one falls asleep and begins to dream. It would be in the November's frost that would be the shadow which would draw a reflection of a shadow.
    I would be in the woods waiting to fall asleep that I am writing this journal -- the weary but calm hand that would be holding this pen but it would be difficult to move it slowly because of the numbing cold that would be in the surroundings. It would be within the blackening that would await the dying nightmares which looks on from the thoughts that would sit inside. Of what can be described of the dreams that would be of the night before as I had slept beneath the open sky. It would take me into the realms beneath the dark shadows that would be within the minds of the addict's soul. That would be when they would inject the horror into their veins, the thoughts that would be in their mind when they would inject the black liquid from the needles -- the heroin that would be on their thoughts; waiting for that one fix; just one fix that would be their thoughts to ease their mind.
    The thoughts which would race in their mind when the needle goes into their arm; looking into their thoughts that would be in their heart-stopping nightmares -- when they would slip into their comatose dreams and would await them in their dreams. Looking at them eye to eye -- toe to toe with the black shape with eyes without a soul. It would be that would be looking back at them in the eyes of one who would be perched on the bridge which the train runs. In the rows where the pigeons gather, one can see where they are laying on the streets waiting for death to take them with the first November frost. That would be in their thoughts which slowly pulse and throb with each injection they would take of heroin after it had been boiled on a spoon with a cigarette lighter.
    It is the drug induce nightmares from their mind that write themselves into a November frost. That would be as they would sleep, they would be walking with the dead among the shadows. Hallucinations that would be inducing the impending fears that would be in their minds as their flesh and veins burn from each injection they would take. The darkness which comes when they would follow the sleep; from what would be inside are of the addictions that cannot be described in detail -- from the black shape looking upon them at night as the dream would commence. Within the dream the horror looks at them from inside as a cancer which slowly eats at their souls. The horror which looks on within the piss and vinegar -- it would be the acid from the drugs looking away as a cancer; the changes which begin to take a violent wind of cold looking inside as would be the blood from the Gods. A revelation -- turning perversions that would be flowing in their minds as the growing frost comes.
    The days of tomorrow would never come because of what would be the dreams that would grow between insects and angels. It is in the minds of the incests that would look at them as they would inject the heroin into their veins. In the horrors descending -- one would see that would be looking at them is the eyes from the black shape. Its eyes would cast their shadow from the midwestern frost -- looking inside of their souls that would be without signs of rest. It is the safe perception; the addiction which molests them from their soul -- the horrors that would be inside of the mind when the next injection controls their soul when the cockroaches crawl in their veins. Impaling horrors that would be within the fear -- a fear that would only be inside of their nightmares waiting upon the shadows of the November frost. Of all that would be when the moon shall cast its light. The darkness shall kill the light.
    That as for I; who would be standing in the darkness alone -- the impending fear looking from the horror that would be inside of the mind, as would be looking in the shadowed minds and the haunted notions that would be inside. From what would be in the dark corners would be walking skeletons with nothing but flesh and hair. They looked like zombies yet they were alive but were among the walking dead; as would be looking in the horrors that walk inside of their comatose nightmares when the liquid poison slowly kills their minds. It is as they had slowly pawed their souls to maintain the rate of addictions. From the nightmares that infest their minds; from the horrors which the slime and cockroaches breathe. Contradictions. From the eyes which look on and the words spoken of the liars -- those who would say a person is healed when they have been touched, all that would be in their veins would be the cockroaches crawling in their veins. It is in their revelations. (perversions from of their dreams.)
    Of the dreams which sit in their mind between the gates of heaven and the eyes of hells flames, the slowly molestations of would be inside of their sleep. The words that would be spoken among the liars when in their nightmares; the fires rise higher and higher still. From the nightmares would stand alone in the November frost would be the dreams that would be written as I would be asleep beneath the open sky. It is under the blanket of darkness where the dream would paint its morbid shape in black; it is the revelation -- the perversions of the mind which would write its hatework. That would be inside -- looking; waiting of what would be -- among them looking; waiting among the keeper of the fears.
    From what would be among the addicts and felons -- waiting for the molestations' sleep that would be looking as one would fall into a drug induced sleep. From when they would begin to dream, the cockroaches are crawling slowly into their veins and keeping the parasites in their blood company. It is from the words that are written inside the dreams that are lurking between the lines. It would be them when they would be waiting to die -- the words which lie between the dreams that sit within the insects and angels. Of what sits inside the cocoon; what writes themself into the nightmare which would become their tomb -- upon the revelations that would be sitting in the thoughts.
    After all that would be inside -- killing their minds; when the needle slowly is inserted into their veins that would be all that is all so clever. In the addiction's ball that would be in the shadows of the word spoken by the liars. Of it all, could they open their eyes and wake up in the neverending-hell. Of the molested purity they were told that they were born into the belief -- that can be of an unborn child that was never concieved. Could one see the thoughts that are playing within the words written in the addictions -- another nightmare which writes itself in the once upon the time. The gathering of the liars congregation; of all that who would be born to bleed. It is written; another invitation for one to join the addict's congregation. (From now we stand before the throwns; that would after the burial -- they are left with nothing; from the shadows decent of the nightmares between the angels and insects.) Not even the prayers that are spoken to the empty skies would grant their salvation because their nightmares would lead them into the black embrace.
    Of would be written of the dream beneath the November skies when everything dies -- that would be in the mind of one when they begin to fall asleep and dream, that the dusk shall wait for eternity. That would be the frozen dreams of the broken souls; waiting for them to live again. (Deliver us from our disease.) From the frozen grounds of the November frost, could one see the shadows written from the writings from the grave. (I am not the blessed savior.) That as I would begin to fall asleep and dream; one can see the beings of gray flesh -- the veiw of gargoyles but yet they appear as human but yet they are not human. (Molested the salvation. can we see from the tombs?) Upon the dreams from the sleeping gypsies -- from the eyes looking from view of the gathering ravens. (from the eyes they see, from the minds of the addictions of the congregation; they wait and bleed.)
    (From the minds waiting of the denighed salvation -- waiting of the dreams; from the words written in the November frost. that would be left in nothing. ) It would be within the dreams that are unwritten -- waiting for death to come before the addict's ball. Within the words written in the thoughts of the one asleep beneath the open autumn skies -- where one is not dead (yet the sleep which one is in appears as one is, but dreaming.)