Sometimes there are things that dreams will inspire that can't be spoken to our dearest friends, when we derive no pleasure from our desire and conquer no evils in the end. Within some mortal sphere, immortal sin sits and conjures images to be seen. Even though the barrier is too thin to press against we still dare to lean. The punishment for sleep comes in parts that are too small for us to rememeber. Calling all our fear up from in our hearts they splash them upon the pages to dismember. Our desires become our fears, or so it seems that pleasure can be pain within our dreams.