The Angel, The Devil, And All That Lies In Between

My skull remains hollow as my eyes

strain for the sight of pale coffee orbs,

lightened as if by sugar and cream;

they lie nestled in twin beds of long

black lashes, ever alert and shining.

My wrist begins to burn at the sight

of vanilla skin, perfectly spread upon

a flawless framework and sealed tight

around just the right amount of flesh

and blood. Shadows flow down her

scalp and upon her shoulders,

determined to frame the gentle

curve of her form. Oh, what I

would do! Simply to be able to

press upon such supple rosebud

lips, to feel her heartbeat mingle

with my own for just one moment.

To brush against her soul- an

instant stolen from the isolated

pathways fate cuts out for each

and every individual. The roads

in which we must walk and fall,

and live and die eternally alone,

cloaked in darkness broken by

the occasional breath of sunlight

that only angels such as herself

can deliver. An angel she must

be to have graced my life with

the first glow it has obtained in all

its years, with intangible wings and

a impact as concrete as can be. For

only an angel can posses such subtle

beauty, in form and mind and heart.

Only an angel could see me as the

wretched being I am yet still offer her

healing touch, floating through my life

as if she has not yet earned her halo

and wings. With tear-stained

cheeks I call to the heavens; in

rage, in fear, in lust and in love.

How long could a being sent from

above survive in the self-inflicted

hell I have created for myself?

How long can I last watching

her hold another before I give

in to the slaughter of a lamb?