It's a cob-webbed sunshine
Kind of a day
Darkened light passes
Turning the pages of a book
Toppled over the dead
There's a purple draft
Whispering secret screams
Waiting patiently in a room
Of rotten decay and twisted creatures
Blood drips like water
And smears like mascara
Off of a powdered face
From star filled eyes
Yet fire burns cold
A path left behind
Shooting stars cry
A crumbled page
Ruined by time’s prestige
Torn wings and vivid dreams
Shattered with goblins
Yelling in their ear
Straw hair and yellowed face
Bone rings with thorned jewels
Room turns bright from shadows
Selling moonlight on the street
Crimson puddles and purple dust
Future holds leather chains
Claws defowl skin
No safety net only pins
A rocky shore
Drowned hands extended
Never reaching anything
An Angel in blood snow
Nails grown long and sharp
Face turned black
Grass burnt ashes
A silent hushed explosion
Blame invisible air
Sight seeing humans
Hot air breaths
Stone dagger melts
Underground smiles
Sick roads discovered
Bloody music on display
Audio repeat blames society
Scattered teens bleed
Angels fall with green snowflakes
Money minds stem humanity
Universe sleeps
In an open mouth
Serpents poison
Trickles down a winding
Staircase from Heaven to Hell
A painted portrait of scars
Normality morphs to
Dead's scent and black roses
This is an Angels portrait
Plastic silver ware
Angels lay dead
In a snow field
Dehydration blackness children
Fear the devil lives in Angels
Defiled by the innocence's blood
It's all just an open snow field