He’s an angel, like me, like his other siblings.
He’s a brother, little brother.
He’s blood, my blood.
He is the youngest,
the weakest, and
the lowest of the combined four.

His flights are lower to Earth,
farther from Heaven.
closer to Hell,
Humans adore him,
his parents spoil him;
Satan sways him.

He turns his back on his worshipers,
backstabs them,
and leaves them to die.
Humans fear they have done something wrong,
they showers him in gifts
they plea for their lives.

I cry as he watches them burn.
I reach out to them,
I am ignored.
More offerings.
More gifts.
More pleas.

I plea,
I kneel,
I kiss their feet, but
our parents are lost in my brother’s spell,
my brother’s trick,
my brother’s façade.

I go to his worshipers,
I warn them of his treachery, and
I am branded as a demon for turning on my blood,
I’m gagged and
I’m silenced,
I’m forced to watch.

His wings are tainted black,
his skin is pulled tight around the bones and from
his joints, spikes emerged.
Small streams of blood fall from his hands
It falls to his people.
It’s treated like rains as they dance in it.

He commands his parents and
He influences his humans.
He is whispered to by Satan.
He flies farther from Heaven,
He grazes the ground of Earth,
He flies in the skies of Hell.

I’m raising an army,
a small rebellion of lost angels and
a band of rebellious humans.
We will take down this demon.
This fallen angel,
This brother.

I will be banished or destroyed.
I will leave with an open mind, a higher flight,
I will know they are safe from him.
My siblings do not abandon me
My humans rally behind me, but
My parents will try to suppress me.

The three of us will be his doom,
his Apocalypse,
his inevitable downfall.
Just as he shows no mercy;
no mercy for his humans,
no mercy shall be given to him.

He is my blood
He is my little brother,
He is my family.
But he is also my greatest enemy  
my wisest foe and
my demon.

That look.
That eye piercing, judgmental, closed expression that leaves you closed out.
She’s already made up her mind. She’s done speaking even before words
were spoken. She’s done. It doesn't matter what you say now, no matter
the white in your words. She’s constructed a story, in that rock thick
head, it’s become a truth. And even if the two of you were to find
some kind of agreement, she will always express doubt. She will
always think you're telling a lie. She'll walk away, ready to tell
the story she’s constructed and place words in your mouth.
And you’ll cry, in the room right above her. You’ll cry in
frustration, and anger, as a distasteful flavor fills your
mouth – the taste of false quotation and fabricated
words. The part that’s going to **** you inside is
the fact that you're going to go back downstairs
and act like nothing ever happened in that room
right above her. If she can’t hear you when you’re
right in front of her, there’s no way she’d hear the sound
of dozens of tears as they roll down your cheek and crash onto
the hardwood floor. A stain that will remain for only a few moments,
then it'll dry out, dead. And you'll put on a façade and agree with her lies
because you never wanted any trouble. You never wanted to see her mad or
disappointed. You'll just agree because you convinced yourself it’s the right thing
to do. Well everytime you lie to yourself, it adds a pebble to your back. You’ll
become a slave to these lies and carry them everywhere. And with each one
you’ll feel more and more alone until you're about to snap. You’ll go to her
for comfort and she'll tell you everything is okay and that this is just
teenage angst. Another lie, placed into your mouth as you agree.
Another pebble. Another back break. Another tear.
But who’s counting? You are. Who cares?
You do. And, in the end,
who’s alone?
You are.

There's a voice on my left,
sweet as syrup and smooth as silk,
it says things I've longed to hear.
But, at the same time,
There's a voice on my right,
painful as a potent poison and raw as rigid razors,
it says things I never wanted to descry.
But is it the angel that whispers
sweet nothings
or is it the devil?
Should I layer myself like a grain of sand in an oyster
or should I dive, head first, into the cold water?

And now, a different voice whispers to me,
sweet and angelic.
It must be an angel, to be so kind and gentle.
This new voice leads me away,
Washing away my layers,
growing closer and closer and closer
to the sand that hides beneath it all.
Are you the devil in disguise
or an angel undercover?
If I reach out, will I be burned?
If I let you hold my heart, will you break it?
So many questions, so many possibilities, so much uncertainty,
surrounding this one voice,
Your voice.

I've lost myself in the woods ---
Again.
But, don't worry, I have a lantern.
The Light is weak, and scattered
against the four walls of
Darkness that claw at me.
Voices whisper of a path:
A nice one full of warmth and love.
I turn to look, but before I can see,
I'm pulled down this path, struggling to breathe
and trying to break away from needy hands.
In the struggle, I've dropped the lantern.
It's warm here,
But, it's becoming too much.
Wait, what's that? My lantern.
Small rays of Light fight against claws to find me.
It's harder than I thought, picking the lantern up again ---
and finally seeing again.
This isn't what I was told.
This isn't what I wanted.
There isn't love here, only lies.
A voice whispers to me, sweet and angelic.
It must be an angel, to be so kind and gentle.
Another voice calls, a horde of
screaming people, calling me to reality.
But, I've wanted this path for so long,
dreamed of this way before I even knew it.
How can I turn that away when it’s teasing at my fingertips?
Are you the devil in disguise
Or an angel undercover?
If I reach out, will I be burned?
The lantern is gone now, dropped during the struggle.
I think I know where I'm going, but without Light, I'm ignorant.
I will trip in these woods, this I'm sure of.
I've been caught on branches, and cut by thorns.
I've run from wolves, and have been bitted by bears.
I want to find my way.
I want to find the light, in the ever changing world of dark.

One Rose.
One Rose is beautiful, special, unique.

One bouquet.
One bouquet is overwhelming, unoriginal, common.

One Rose.
One Rose that has been nursed from a seed, watched grow, and given at the perfect time.

One bouquet.
One bouquet that was hastily picked, paid for, and given out of fit.

One Rose.
One Rose is all a person truly needs.

One bouquet.
One bouquet if you haven't found your Rose just yet.

The greatest temptation of a trapped body is freedom.
A freedom of the soul that leaves the body behind,
in its prison,
and releases the soul
into the autumn wind.
The body is left with the dying green;
buried in browns, burgundies, and blacks;
decorated with red ribbons, purple and blue flowers,
and a rope -- around the neck.

A rope sent by the Devil in the mind's weakest state.
It coiled itself around the neck and hissed in the ears.
It sang:
So long as the body is snared, so is the soul and mind.
Yet, the mind wonders through deserts and swims in oceans.
But the rope sank its fangs deep into the mind,
releasing a poison that brought it to the prison of the body.
It became a mind craving the same release as the soul.
That is when the Devil wins; when temptation is taken,
and the soul has died,
alone,
lost in the autumn wind.