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Angel of mine

Once I stabbed an angel to death. Bled him right out, gut and soul. Struck at his very core. Again and again and again, going harder every turn. Til his wings did capitulate. Til his eyes widened doll-like but strangely, did not cease to water. So he lay moribund, what a thing to behold. My work was done. My conscience bailed, now what on earth is morality? Not long after, I expected him to fly for me. Fly, pretty, fly. Why won’t you fly? I killed his flight and couldn’t comprehend why my angel wouldn’t fly as he once did! I produced once more the dirty blood and brain-coated blade and stabbed some more at the angel’s stark body still so pretty, that he might put a stop to this ridiculous, petty show and wake the hell up. You don’t have to believe me. I know what I did.

That is the monster I once was. I would dance with the devil, for ages after the damn song had even stopped. I tired the devil out, he sat the fuck down and watched me work. He feared for his name. One more graceless move I’d be plying his trade he’d be mine to deliver. Thanking me, that’s what.

I would rather lay with my demons than learn to swim with my angel. Would. No will, no more. No longer. I cannot be this one moment longer. But fuck, for the love of all things pure, unintelligible, why? Why had I been this? Is this innate? Is this fun for you? Lord is this supposed to be fun for me?

A beautiful resurrection ensued. My angel babe. The blissful sun did well to dry up the river of tears he had wept. Never again would a river form in a manner so bleak so grey, nor run for a monster fallen so far from grace. His deadened locks flaxen had gleam once more, his ashen complexion replaced with cheeks rosey. He ran and he climbed far far away. A certain bravado he took in his stride. Surefooted man like you never did see. Man is jovial. Man revived. Far removed from me and all that surrounded, the stale air, the putrid flesh I bear, pitch black skies riddled with wispy specters and stars to put a curse on you if you look at them too long. Sea of stinking rotten cadavers at my feet. I don’t know where to journey so I learn to call it home. Unlike most, he always knew where he needed to be. Man moves onwards, upwards. Man is tough. Strength is honour and honour, glee

I’m so proud of the man I see it’s a kindness that I set him free though never another like him for it is he hope another angel lies in wait for me.

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