(no subject)
I dreamt last night that I visited hell. I have little recollection of the journey, but I do remember it being rather tedious. I spoke with many men, I traveled through many doors and false doors, and the lights were all the while dim. When I finally arrived, I knew where I was. I stood in a procession and walked slowly in time with those ahead of me. I eventually arrived at the end of the line, at which point a depression overcame me that I hadn't felt in years. Before me lay a familiar face, I was once again at the funeral of my friend Kyle, who took his own life two years ago. As soon as the sadness sank into my heart, I once again found myself part of the procession, and I followed obediently for quite some time. Finally, I came upon the occupied casket once again, and the terrible collapsing feeling in my chest immediately returned as though it had never truly subsided, and then I once again joined the procession.
I wish I had never gone to sleep.
I wish I had never gone to sleep.