I had to kill an angel to write this.
I tore her wings from her back
and fashioned a quill out of
her ivory feathers.
I daggered her heart
and gathered ink out of
her gushing blood. And I did
it all without a blink. In the dead
of the night, you arrive with the dark
and you always came bearing gifts.
most times, they're cruel words
and they echo… cruel words
and they echo… echo...
echo… these, she
brings with her when
the dawn comes and stays
with her till dusk, till you give
her new words she never wanted.
sometimes, you whisper with your
honeyed voice, laced with poison,
these ones she avoided; they
may be sweet, but when
you get used to them,
they will kill you
all the same. everynight,
you rain her with unwelcome
thoughts, taunted her, little by
little… you made her look into the
mirror and told her, you look similar.
you are the same. deep inside, she's
made of the same substance- of
shadows. shadows wanting to
breakfree of the white silk
she's bound in. she
shook her head
many times for many
nights, until one night she
listened to the shadowed visitor.
I killed an angel to write this. with
razor came blood-soaked feathers
red ink danced on white sheets...
we are the same…
the same…
same...
