The Bride

The bride is dead.
Her hope chest lies,
mahogany shines,
untouched.

The bride is dead.
Her veil is tangled,
the tiara mangled,
undone.

The bride is dead.
Her hankies, yellowed,
lace has ripped
to shreds.

The bride is dead.
Her album, there.
Better days
have gone.

The bride is dead.
Her diamonds sit
upon my neck.
unloved am I.




The necklace. It's over 100 years old. One heck of an antique, huh?





The hope chest. Eerie, huh? Try having it in your house.




Dress & veil.




My grandparents. Aren't they beautiful? (If you say no I will beat you bloody fucking senseless--no kidding, no humor.)

I think I'm finally getting my closure. I just wanted to sure some newfound tresures. I was a forunate person to have such a saint raise me. I know you all must be tired of hearing about this, but this has been such a painful experience--the worst of my life. I lost a mother, grandmother, companion, confidante, and friend. I just wanted to put all of these things together in a place where I could hold onto them for a very long time without the...worry about the eventual physical breakdown of these items.

♥