GuinevereParker

Death. Is not the end. It's when your real self. Wakes up. From the dream you've been. Calling. Reality. All this time it's been. A dream. Death is reality. And your reality has been imagination. A pass time. To entertain the real you. While sleeping. The coma. Lying in a hospital. Bed. That's all life is. All that death is.

I tried what has been suggested; that I close my eyes and try to reach a state of calm. Where my mind is empty of all thoughts, both evil and good. You could call it meditation. Nevertheless I tried and failed. When I closed my eyes, breathed deeply, I saw blinding light. And beaches that crawled into fields of ice with jagged icebergs overlapping like deathly scalloped potatoes. I tried to feel the sand between my toes, but all I felt were the words I never said. They are written in the sand as far as I can see. And slowly they slithered and spiraled around my feet, up my legs. Encasing my in a shell of fear. They continued twisting up to th