Life, Tragic Love


∏∇♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ LOVE♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥NOIR ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥HEARTBREAK ASYLUM♥♥♥♥♥TRAGIC




φπΨ∞‰∅- For all those suffering the Tragic Death of Love, you are a brave soul. For those lost in it, be thankful because….when it….. is….. gone………it….is…………



My deepest Blog Post, now people really get to know Miss D. Even all the 
haters that come along with it. For all those who cost my energy pain, let me embrace you, I got a lot for you to talk about now. 
I had to say that, there are really rude, senseless people whom cannot wait for my fall in Death, seriously....I am not joking. 
Think about it this way...if I was such a happy girl, I would not be a 
writer, I would not be able to sing, I would not be able to paint, I would
not be able to write music THAT HAS BEEN STOLEN FROM ME (oh, believe me I will get to that, don't you worry), I would not be blessed with talent, 
I would not be ART. For every blessing you have there is a curse,
the bigger the blessing the greater the curse, my point in theory.

Now,how does one feel when both love and your Art were taken away?


I get this knotted feeling in my stomach, it does not go away. I do not 
talk about it with anyone because last time I did, I spoke to 
someone whom does not appreciate art (useless), they did not
comprehend. I will not denounce them, I figured D, calm down
WRITE ABOUT IT. So, I got told, I actually listened, and 
my muse, once right.
Moving along now. 

  I am left without my BLACK BOOK, the second album I wrote as well
as the very first. How tragic, yes, even more so....broken. From head
to toe, broken. I feel lost in this mixed fairytale of my much
beautiful art pieces, all in a big castle I see a big broken room, 
and look out the window and see a broken down gate that was once
sealed, locked, so tightly shut, now...opened with ease. My god.
I weep, all hours of the day, all hours of the night, in my dreams,
in my nightmares, god, what hath he done to me??? 

What he hath done to me, cometh the day thy will regret unto thee.

I am not joking, this is not a game. I feel devastated. 
I did not know the feeling of shock could last this long.
I cannot breath, it is as though my every breath I take 
is more difficult, more painful, more agonizing..
A riddler, a fake, A LIE, a loser.
You did this to me.
I rather he killed me holding my Beautiful Black Book,
The prestige sonnets, the immaclulate poetry, the 
prospering art felt passages of my truth, my passages
as my referances of memories I must remember
due to my brain injuries after my near death experience 
after my car accident in April of 2012, I should have 
died holding it in my arms as I once did after 
I did on April 20, 2012. 
I felt death all over me on that sinister day, the 
paramedics asked me on that tragic day, "Is there anything out of
your vehicle you need, which, due to the impact will be seized 
it is no longer drivable." 
I remember my chest feeling too tight to breath but had 
just enough retraction and energy to mutter, "Black....
book." I put my hands to my chest as if I was already holding it, my eyes, wide but dead. "Umm, a black book, is there a friend or someone 
you know that can come and get it?" I instantly grabbed
the paramedics own cell phone and dialled my loyal friend. 
I handed back the phone quickly to the paramedic, "Two minutes."
I gestured. The paramedic looked at me and just did not know how to handle this girl who he knew survived the drastic car accident but had died 
on the inside. Horrified he responded, "Is there anything else we should 
tell your friend to get out of your vehicle, I mean....." 
"NOOOO...just the book is all." He was making me angry because
he was asking me to describe something I knew my friend knew
exactly what it was I needed and what it meant.
In two minutes my friend came, the paramedic with his latex gloves on
starts walking up inside the ambulance I quickly get up and snatch it out
of his hands, and clenched it so tightly to my heart. 
The Paramedic did not say a word on the way to the hospital, he knew
better. He felt how much it meant to me, but did not understand why.
That struck him, made him think, observe, to try and understand that 
no matter who came into my reach would have to kill me before snatching
the Black Book I held in my arms, clenched to my heart, protected.

Now it is 2016, I did not lose the book, IT WAS STOLEN. 
It is 2016 and I died on April 20, 2012 but have come back to life 
for someone whom I lost. 
Only this one person whom I have lost can hold it and give me 
back this book however, the person whom has stolen it cannot...
NOW, you tell me, what is one supposed to do. This is too much for me.
I cannot write anymore, my insanity is kicking in, just note...
THIS IS NOT the end.



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