That as I would take of this recollection; the thoughts that would be written would be that cast a darker shadow. One as I would look at things from the world of one who had been tormented by their peers. What would be in their mind is something that would create the monster that would be within - something that would slowly create itself as the sickness; something that would be there in the back of their minds casting the shadow.
     The words of a bipolar would be the things that would be written of nightmares. That of I - one who had been diagnosed with the sickness of two years; though that would be of the racing thoughts would be the nightmares that I had seen on the local news of a youth raping his life by holding the gun; the one who calls himself the big man making a fist around the trigger - one who would see this in the eyes of the ones tormenting them; the horror they invoked, tables turned. They were thinking that they made this happen; brought it upon themselves when they continued to fuck with the meek looking kid - fucking with him because his parents cannot afford the Tommy Hillfinger's or the other trendy thing that is out there; but the question they should be asking if they do smile when they are buried because they are looking at the same kid blowing them away. The big man holding the gun.
     What it took them to realize that they would be the one's meeting God on the other side and butt-fucked by the barrel; the tormented becoming the tormentor. They are upon their knees begging for an excuse to live; but the big man with the gun is laughing. "Look who is begging now mother fucker; I am the one who is God in your eyes - I am the one that would be one taking your live. Now you die, unless you have a good reason to see - now that you are just another victim; pray to me motherfuck before I pull this trigger; that as I would look into your eyes - now that I had seen your soul pleading; beaten into submission now I pull this trigger and your live would end." If they were dead would not feel the pain burning them from inside but the nightmares that would flash before their eyes would be; closing their eyes they can see the fine line between heaven and hell. As they would lay on the floor as their skin turning green and the final nightmare that is in their head as their life flashes before their eyes. The horror that would be there within their minds as the hand of doom grabs and chokes them into their demise - someone pulling to the trigger; helping them destroy themselves.
     The last words. The nightmares that were written in the words of a bipolar scribe - the driving madness that would be inside of their mind. Watching as they would see their souls leave their bodies - they would be shot into submission; bleeding. Slowly descending into the loss of control. As they would continue to slip away they awaken into the realms of where they see a being perched in the tree; a being that is similar to the one called the walking dude - looking upon them; saying that this is their fucking eternity; the place where they would be spending the rest of their days.
     "They would bury your soul in shit; and no one would know that you died - Satan awaits for your minds," bellows the voice as it echoes in the darkness. "The innocence that you claimed to have was molested by the horrors that would be behind the big man clenching the gun, now welcome to the rest of eternity - among the black; written in the words of a bipolar. I have many fears and realities that would be among the thoughts, welcomed from the torments invoked by the horrors which you had given to the one who you tormented. This is the what happens when one is tormented day in and out."
     "Should listened to the bipolar before going into the bathroom or when started middle school - should not of made fun of the meek one because of the way he or she looked because it would be what would the result of the premature burial." The being stated, "if one looked into the mind who would be spent on tormenting; would you understand the nightmares awaiting them the next day in and out. Blind; one would not see what they would do here would be the leading of their very demise - looking into the barrel of the gun; the big man holding the gun is the one playing God.
     See one is shaking now because of where they are - watching the flames rise higher still; fucked like a little person becoming a faggot in prison; no one can save you here. Salvation is the denial that would be of you when you tormented the one who killed you - the things that one would do had cast a shadow. The words from a bipolar had penned of the nightmares from the one behind the barrel of the gun. Now you're standing here talking to me when you cannot see me sitting in the tree when I am talking to you where I can see where the one you called a reject for many years snapped and placed a few holes in your mother fucking heads. Now you are looking at your numbed bodies as the throats are becoming dry and you cannot hear the parting groans. The killing fields had been set and it was people who killed in Columbine and Oregon. Those things that would haunt their mind would cast the shadow - all that would be said; in the minds that are left for them to die - looking into their eyes would be the invitation for them to commit suicide. The thoughts that would be in their mind when they are tormented are the emotions they try to hide by wearing a smile; only to see that is burying them cannot hide as it would cast its shadow.
     The nightmares which are godforsaken take one into the realms of hell that are not spoken of by what cannot be saved from. The horrors that would be in their nightmares cast a shadow that would be in the shades of gray. That would be in your last hours - the hours which one stares at the barrel of the gun. One should listen to the warnings from the written words from a bipolar. Now as one begins to control their soul; the horrors that would be burning fast as you would stand before me - that would be one who would do unto others as they would do to them; now the ones that are the tormentors shall be the ones to be chosen to die at the hands they had tormented spending eternity within the gates of the carnival of souls."
     "Please!!!!" one of them pleaded, "In the name of Christ, give us another chance to make up with this and allow us to return to the living." Now one of them said sobbing, "Oh God, why is this happening to me - had never hurt anyone."
     "Save me your tears bitch - the hell that you are about to face was that of one you had given to the person who capped your ass. Your begging for repentance - fuck you sadistic whore; that person who killed you had stood in the corner of the bathroom hours before pulling the .22 upon himself then pulling the trigger. I am just the observer of what you had done - sob all you want bitch, because all I am doing is laughing as you rot. I see what you had done - am one who sees all of what is done; your nothing - a retarded bitch that would love to see others suffer," the being echoed - can you see what you have done.
     "God please help me," the horror came from her shrilled voice - "NO!!!!!!!!!! Leave me alone!!!!!" "If I had heed the warnings from the bipolar; I would not of been here - standing before you; I cannot look into God's face because of what I had done. All I can see is nothing - all I can see is just pain." It was in her horror that she was being raped from the soul - the horrors from what she saw in the company of the cenobite in flesh. The being was one who was not dressed in the black leather as the others - but had hair that was raven black, dressed in blue jeans, hiking boots and a hooded black coat which had been pulled down to reveal a set of eyes that were scarring; one whom cast a shadow - that as one began to bleed and impale; she began to pass out and the ground swallowed her then the other five soon followed - leaving behind the charms worn around their fingers; that the one who was tormented had seen it all from below from the fires of Hades.
     As she had began to scream - she had realized that it was a horrid nightmare. Awakening in the hospital room; the nurse said while blotting the cold sweat from her forehead, "Ms. Hillson, you had a terrible nightmare - now you are safe in the hospital room. You need another blanket? I am asking since you are still in shock from the school shooting - they found you comatose in the hallways. We had sent your clothing back with your family and bandaged the wounds on your arms."
     "What wounds? I did not have any wounds," She said horrified. Then took a second look at her arms and they were bleeding. The bleeding. One that would be of which was written of by the bipolar scribe. As she sat up in her bed - there was a ring that had a red stone in the middle of it like what the being wore on his left hand, one that would be looking on in horror because what she had seen from the dream was the name Pacione inscribed on the inside of the ring.