Originally written back in 2014.
I dream. I dream and I see. I see a sharp object in a hand. I see the hand making thin and shallow lines on a skin. I see the skin seperating, revealing blood. I feel. I feel the skin separating, revealing pain. I feel my heart beating faster. I see. I see the blood dripping. I see it pooling. I see it. I hear. I hear a scream. I hear a terrible scream. I become aware then. I become aware of my scream. My voice. My trembling voice. All the while knowing. Knowing that this is a dream. A dream. I dream. I know. I dream, and so, I know. Yet. Yet, what do I know? For when I awaken. For if I awaken, I know this won't have happened. I know this. Yet, I remember. I remember knowing things before they were taken. I know I remember. Yet, what good are memories if they are lies? Does one jugde ones worth trough other means, and not through memories? For are we not on the basic of levels beings with desires and with flawes and of memories? Memories. Oh, memories. The self righteous will laugh at this. They will laugh their cruel laughs and speak ill of those unlike them. But then I wonder. I wonder whether they really are the self righteous ones, and if its not the opposite. Even if I were to somehow awaken. Awaken with the knowledge that what has come to pass, has had a meaning for the greater parts of the unknown, I think I would be unhappy with the answer. For even if the answer was something I was driven to search all my life, I think it would've been over shadowed by the fact that the present was something of a dismal utopian nightmare. A nightmare. Yes. Not a dream. But a nightmare. Even if a single cause was greater than all other causes combined, the present would've outweighted my feelings and desires and my decisions. To live or to die? The answer, as always, aflux. I feel. I see. And I know.