The soft autumn scent of another desolate morning. The sunset full of dread marks a turn in time. The nights are long, sleepless and the dark never dulls the stains. When another dead sun rises, faint relief rises in my heart. Sleep may come, bringing with it fitful rest and unwanted vivid dreams. The dreams are terrifying and I wake up ill and shaking. The house is always empty and quiet. She is at work and the doors are locked. I am safe. But then come the terrible things beyond my nightmares, the roots of them. Pure, blinding, white-hot emotion, numbed by the fact that I can't feel that many negative emotions at once.
So I had this dream, I was talking to my Mother. We were at my old house from a few years previous, sitting in the back room. I'm quite sure I was high. She was wearing a loose fitting blue shirt and black pants. Sitting on the computer chair. I jump up and shock and start firing questions at her. How are you here? I thought you were dead? How can you be here? Have I been asleep for months? You're dead. You're dead.
She begins crying and saying. Why would you think I'm dead? I'm not dead. I'm not dead. I'M NOT DEAD. She begins to get very angry with me. Crying. How can you be here? I have your ashes, if you are here who's ashes are these? You are dead. She just gets increasingly angry and cries more and shouts more. And for a second I almost believed her.
I do not know what this is meant to mean and I do not know if it means anything at all.