Collected up in the clouds of the afterlife we gathered another round,
where we conversed of the life that was never there.
You portrayed about everything you always sacrificed day in and out,
yet at no instance did you ever say the things you needed to say.
There was no point in time you fulfilled the needs that needed to be met,
and it broke me into pieces with the things you didn’t say,
it was all about you and that was what mattered the most to you,
how could you believe that was right?

Never once did you say,
you never said you were sorry,
you never said you were wrong,
never said that I mattered,
never saying that you cared about me,
it never left your lips,
it was all about you,
that was what mattered the most.

Yet when I heard the flat-line I fell apart from the absence,
the child in tatters from the heartache you made me live with,
shattered from the eternal silence I was never to hear you again,
how can you leave believing you did right?

But were you ever there?
I’ve cried so many times for a mother and you weren’t there,
anger welled so high I needed a mom and I was given wrath,
fear spilled over like a hurricane and it was met with silence,
wanting to end it all and still you ignored the signs,
you watched and were never there.

Last thing I witnessed was my knees on the ground,
a heart on the floor,
the sound of a flat-line,
the wail a child crying out alone in anguish,
you left me where I started;

---

From having a nightmare that's frankly been stuck in my head since it happened almost 24 hours ago. This is about something that had to do with my foster mother. She was... a difficult person to truly get along with to say the least. Troubled, and full of her own issues. Though that was part of the problem, she refused to see her own fault. Taking into consideration all the things she did give up, or the things she had to sacrifice for the offsprings she did bring into the world.
She didn't bring me personally into the world, a loving mother wouldn't see a difference. She did, and frankly I understand why she saw a difference. It was something that wasn't her own fault nor something that was my own fault. I cannot dictate whom I will look like as I got older. By the time I came of age and was around them; I already carried the resemblance of my father, and that was traumatizing to her. I understand that's something that isn't her own fault, though it is her responsibility to not let something cloud judgment of someone she was supposed to care for and about. It hurts.
Seeing my foster mother in a dream/nightmare that I immediately knew was a dream/nightmare is one thing, having the conversation within it be something that was going to make me pull a day and half cycle just trying to figure out what on earth it means and the point of it? Sometimes I hate being artistic, cause it forces me to look into avenues of things I would much rather just... leave alone... and being in a dream, telling my mother how I felt, the things I begged to hear from her, only for a silent response, the sound of a snapping neck, then dark ichor oozing from her mouth, nose, and eyes, followed by the sound of a flat-line.
In the dream I dropped to my knees, letting out a quiet "Nooo." and I woke up saying no like that, almost howling? and crying heavily. It felt like my heart was just ripped into pieces, thrown onto the floor, left out, trampled on, then shoved back into my chest only to get shot point blank right after.
I don't have a lot of dreams, and in the last seventy-two hours, I have had two that were both really bizarre, and one that has me emotionally spent when I woke up.

Artwork is mine, writing belongs to me, Feather and her design belong to me.