Hate Is My Haven

Silent screams echoed the empty hallway. Ohia Mullete was haunted by danger's icy fingers, tracing her soul. Hate was her haven. Loathing kept her alive. It was the essence of her soul that stroked anger's monstrosity. Nobody ever bothered to peel the hardened surface of Ohia's iron-bark heart. What lies beneath her soul? Love or Hatred? Loyalty or Betrayal? Scars or Trophies? Forgiveness or Mercilessness?
Read as Ohia's hatred unravels into a journey written by the works of emotion. .......

The art of the spirit must be painted on a canvas of purity.
What is created is the masterpiece of the soul.
The artist is life. It brushes against the canvas with inevitability.
We are all abstract paintings. We may not be understood but we all hold beauty within ourselves.
May life's artwork paint our souls with detail and precision,
For we all die alone. For we all die with memories.
May these memories live forever, haunting the Earth forever more.