I played on a pun and renamed this piece lost at tree.
It's previous name was tree of hair-etage, but I felt it to be too corny.
Remixes are welcomed on this piece.
I couldn't take a better picture of it because it's a huge canvas drawing that I did about a year or so ago.
The decision has been passed. I think I would've loved her if I had lived. I think I would've seen through her eyes if she would just learn to forgive.
I am a mistake.
No...I wish I understood.
Her mind had gone crazy 2 months in.
She started out by pouring her happiness in every meal. She cried oceans..rivers...into alphabet soups that were long forgotten.
And when she received yellow roses from her beloved?
She went nuts...like any logical...person would if they were to receive ... yellow roses... the meaning of sick.
She was sick.
Her love buried her and drowned her alive and asked that she not speak of it...
I wanted to cry. I wanted to hold her. My mother.
She never became my mother.
She became my murderer.
Mother's long-forgotten child
She was an unearthly sight when I first saw her. Continued glances from the corner of the bronzed lion statue allowed me to steal glances ever so often. Her hair rustled to perfection, almost as though she woke up effortlessly and never dreamt nor imagined.
From what I often heard, she was like a firestarter. Respond to her in an unseemly manner, and she'd get rid of you, almost like the way she ridded of my sister five years ago when she started out as the Director of the CIA.
I tried to maintain my composure that autumn day as I stood in the conference room. Presenting...what would someday be DreamShare. But...I received a phone call that day informing me that I would never hear from my younger sister again for she had died in her sleep. Finding it strange, I hired invesigators to further look into why they had closed my sister's case as soon as it was opened....and what I would learn ...changed me. Changed my dreams. Changed the ideals of DreamShare forever.
If it took deceit and pain that resonated every waking hour to play away the life of my last remaining love, then these cold-hearted secrets...lies...omitted truths...shall caramelize tenfold...
Down the sink. Down the sink, you go. For what you may think is not what you really know.
I drained the bottles of their blue moon scent. The liquid filled up the room as it dispersed and diverged unto its own ways. Carefully, and cautiously, I slowly moved across the room with the two glass bottles in hand, kind of clinking them. Hoping she would hear the calls. Incoming. Incoming. I slid one glass bottle against the wooden floor and led it towards my messenger bag. Impatience ran thin as I heard a faint footstep and heaving outside of my door. She was watching.
I shoved it into the bag; the other, my backpack. Knowing fully well, she would later search for it, I placed the bag under my bed, and allowed it to peak out for air of some sorts. Air of truth. Air of trust. Lingering.
As I sat in my college lecture, my phone lit up telling me. Warning me. To ignore. Instead, I pressed Read Now only to find a message from my sister, "I thought you stopped drinking?"
Perfect. Trust. Shattered.
(1)st time, I texted you...I didn't...but it was what I thought was the best day of my life. The first day of high school. My mother hugged me for the first time. I later realized she was just doing it for show...
(2)nd time, I texted you hi was the first time we talked. a year and a half ago. when he broke my heart. when I told you about how they molested my childhood away from me. when I told you it's scarred me for the rest of my life. and you held the glass pieces even though your hands were scarred. I couldn't see my reflection.
(3)rd time I texted you hi...you left for basic training. You left without saying goodbye. After you gave me the strength to break up with him after 6 months of watching him cheat on me. I cried. but not over him.
(4)th time I texted you...was because I missed your phone call. You were at basic training. You injured yourself. You remembered...you missed me.
(5)th time I texted you... you ignored it. well me. for months. Leaving me to life's drawings of pain. Letting me realize that you were my pillar.
(6)th time I texted you was right before I was raped. You didn't answer because all I had sent was a simple, "hi, I've missed you."
(7)th time I texted you was right after I was raped. I cried while texting you about what a great time I was having living on campus and such. I lied.
(8)th time I texted you I wanted to kill myself. You were worried. I told you what happened months prior, and after sending your condolences, you never texted again.
(9)th time I texted you, you assured me that you could only like me...that it could not reach love, but that the world would be empty if I were to leave. I believed you.
(10)th and (11)th and (12)th times...I've texted you...and not once have you responded. I wanted to tell you that I've been blackmailed, used, and raped again. The pain bled.
(13)th time, I'm texting you and giving you the final hints of my heart. But it hurts to love you almost as much as it does to live.