Of what I begin to recollect of my dreams while in the hospital were that of walking around in a dark and vacant church building. The markings on the ground were something of an arcane nature. That of a queer description which is not be described in the open. The thing that what would described was that of a horror that would not be imagined or conceived. Thoughts of this nature draws a line between reality and belief – in the nature that one would watch a person withdraw blood for the friend to drink is appalling, since I am squeamish to the site of blood. This is a lifestyle that is looked down upon in the Christian’s eyes, and what I describe of the nightmares influenced by what I had read on my own of the occult and things that I was taught in Christian Church.
    The things that they would say of mental illness and epilepsy were things that would discourage treatment for the one that would wish to remove them from this world by means of self-murder. Of would be said of the one that needs treatment is that they are rebuked for their illness. They would believe that a spiritual healer heals all, but in truth justifies the one to embrace the thoughts of self-mutilation. The things that they would call them would invoke one to cut the fuck out of themselves and praying to God to bless their self-inflicted death. In their sleep they would see individuals walking around with various self-inflicted wounds – wounds that were inflicted during their birth, saying that what was said of them was God’s Will. It is nothing but a perversion that was hanging on the cross – the one that is said to die for the sins; saying that the self-infliction will take them to hell.
    The thoughts that are conceived were not of the things that were said in the revival but that of a dream that I had reflecting the revival. One that would allow someone into a darkness that cannot be justified by the one that would say that one that was backsliding away, slipping away from the salvation that they were taught only to realize that it was nothing but a lie when it came to when they had the illness within. The things that were in the dream as I had slept were of that was walking into a crowded chapel, as a revival that was at Midwest Christian Center – only when I was inside the people were just skin and bone, walking skeletons with skin, naked. It was something out of a holocaust documentary – one that would invoke many nightmares, a horror that one cannot begin to describe and as they would approach the altar for they were told to cut themselves so they can get the salvation. Their salvation always had room for one more because they were told to allow the pastor to drink from their wounds.
    As they would strip naked they were handed razor blades and were told to cut themselves at their wrists, chest, and legs then allow the blood to flow from them. They would let the bleeding begin and then proceed to the altar – some would bleed to death as the pastor drank. He would say that God will be giving his grace to them as they had to tithe their blood for them, since it was in God’s Will. That as they were told to bleed, then motioned to knee as the cross with their hands out for the reverend to drink. They were told that heaven is just beyond their bleeding sleep. That the only way that they will find their healing is within their death; which was the reason that they were ordered to starve themselves to walking skeletons. One of those thoughts that one tries to get out of their mind, but a horror as that will always remain – mirroring the nightmares of the holocaust.
    The pastor and deacons proceed to drink from the congregation and they are saying that God always has room for one more. It was out of the congregation’s free will that they tithed their blood for the perversion of faith. They looked like one from a German World War II death camp before they would stand in the waters of their own urine and feces; one that would see the blood flowing from their already flesh covered skeleton. The combined smell of death, dried blood, and shit would make one suffocate upon their own vomit. The surroundings in the revival of perversion that of a nightmare that would haunt one into their sleep – appalling thoughts that would remain as the phrase, “Room for one more.”
    After the pastor drank from the congregation, the deacons began to devour upon their remains – leaving nothing but the skeletons. The revival of spiritual healing was nothing but a cemetery that lead a perversion called the rapture. As they would kneel awaiting for their death, they are looking at the cross of a crucified skeleton. The pastor was a mortal vampire – one that was into drinking blood, and used the Pentecostal Congregation as his flock because of their views of spiritual healing, the revival was nothing but a mass grave and their bodies – bloated, and empty shells. They thought that they were going to be healed, but only to find themselves in a ritual of mandatory suicide. They were going into a darkness they were not able to leave from – selling their souls to religion.
    In horror I had began run toward the doors only to realize that they were locked from the outside, if felt as I was when I was assaulted a year ago – that horror playing itself over and over, as I would find another way to escape I would begin to see crimson flowing from the back of my head. Then I would hear that fucking youth pastor saying that the reason I am bleeding. He said started bleeding as a result of that I had stopped going to church and reading the Bible. “Why don’t you return to the congregation? You know that God can heal you,” I heard him saying in the distance. “Fuck you and your God. He cannot tell me of my fate,” I muttered beneath my breath. I began see myself bleeding more, the blood flow was faster from my head – from the place that I was slashed last winter. “Repent and you will stop the loss of blood,” he had said in a cold voice.
    Looking at the pastor was something that sent a chill in my veins, one of those chills that would remain in the soul because of what he had done to an entire congregation. The blood was still upon his face from the drinking of the wounds. “You know that God has room for one more, why don’t you come join us – join the Kingdom of God?” he whispered slowly, coldly. “Only God can heal you. I am coming for you because your pen pal had eliminated my mentor, Reverend Flagg.” “Shut the fuck up – you’re nothing but an abomination that is in the skin of a pastor,” I answered back, “Your mother had sex with a corpse and there you are born – pregnant by a vampire. He couldn’t even get it up because he had limp dick.”
    As he proceeded closer, I had fallen from the top flight of stairs then rolled a few times down a few floors, I could not remember what happened next. I was numb from the loss of blood and violent blows that I received from hitting every step with my head. The next thing that I begin to remember is awaking in a hospital bed from a mental health unit. I was looking around. I found myself not dressed in my jeans, flannel and hi-tops. I was wearing a sweat suit a friend dropped off to me while visiting hours, said that this would be more comfortable than the fucking hospital pajamas that I was given when I was admitted to the hospital. In the bag was a tract from that church in my dream.
    I was still laying in my bed covered up to my neck – barely awake and barely asleep, to realize the other person in the room had stitches over his eyes because he tried to cut off his eyelids as well as slice his arms and legs. His arms and legs were in restraints; the thought of that would leave a picture that is too disturbing to recount. The doctors said that he was mutilating himself to get the nightmares out of his mind – nightmares that would drive one to the hospital knowing that they will always have room for one more.