Despite being impaled on the long blade of time
I still hold your jaw in a vice grip.
Crack me, like the sun does the ice and I will
split.
Into millions of manic fragments, clinging tightly to the last vestiges of shadow.
But you have not defeated me.
I slowly put myself back together so that next time
my wrath will be stronger, my grip will be tighter.
My wings are held together with stitches and scabs,
but they are stronger than yours, artificially pure.
Though you rise like an arc of solar corona
to burn me once again,
all I must do is wait
and wait
and wait
Because when entropy takes over, your heat will be snuffed out
And you will realize what it feels like to live without the flames that fuel you.

The sweetest angels are the ones who were raised in cages.
Free from corruption, sin and blood
Draped in holy white, with every stain covered up.
Perfectly pristine.

But how can an angel fly without room to move her wings?
The bars cut through them as they grow, mangling the delicate feathers until clots of crimson blood are the only thing holding them together.
And it feels good
to feel its warmth and see its exquisite colour, so pleasant to the eyes
Dried blood is ugly and cold so she thrashed around to spill more, each drop as precious as a jewel and as beautiful as the sun.
And it feels good
to destroy and to hurt.
Though they mock her, she doesn’t care.
Because it feels good.
Because how can an angel fly without room to move her wings?

But if she can’t fly, then she can’t be an Icarus
Or a crow that smashed into a window, thinking it was a portal to another world
and then plummeted to its death.
But then she can’t see the universe
or the beauty her wings have to offer.
The only universe is the one in her brain and I want to leave I want to leave I want to leave
Maybe a caged angel set free will become a demon but I want to leave.
Even if the fallen angel smashes through the clouds, a portal to another world
and plummets to its death
It is worth it to taste the breeze.
I want to leave.

You tried.
So I guess I can forgive you.
But what use is a rebel angel against a god?
You gave me courage in whispers and gestures of affection
but it wasn’t enough.
I’m sorry, but it wasn’t enough.
Courage is a bandage over a festering wound
but maybe I want it to fester.
Maybe I want to jam my fingers into it and press until the rot reaches my heart
and reaches my brain
and reaches my wings.
Courage is resistance
but maybe I don’t have the will to resist anymore.
And even if my resistance is successful, I know I will still be crushed.
There is no place in this world for an angel with broken wings or worse,
a broken head.

Except the cage.

God operates like a factory,
hammering reality out of nothingness,
passing it along the assembly lines
where it piles up at the end
and eventually falls
and falls
through beautiful layers of abyss
dancing, twirling on the way down
with no wings to cushion its fall.

But sometimes, he makes a mistake,
a small manufacturing error,
clogging up the system with its imperfections
it holds on tightly
and desperately
only to be crushed at the end
and be recycled back into nothingness
where it will never fall victim to entropy
and burn out, like everything else.

I always feel like I am drowning.
Like I am struggling to breathe.

And I know that it is you
that has a hand around my neck.

I'm not dead yet, but I can already
feel the fire licking at my feet.

I will not let it take me.
You will never see me on my knees.

I will swallow down the bitter fire you throw
And spit out the blood.

Until I bite down and feel
my teeth cut through the rot

of your artificially pure wings.
And that is how I know I've won.

I wish I was your Ophelia
so you could cradle your head in my lap
and tell me not to fall
tell me the meaning of it all
because these bitter lies have meaning
when spoken by your voice.

I am but a nymph
flowing violently on the river
so tell me how you feel
and help me know I'm real
because at the end, there is nothing
and I want to know if I'm there yet.

But what is the point of waiting?
Why not make it happen now?
Why not trade a few more hours of pitiful dreams
for gentle oblivion?

Hold my hand as we spiral down together,
with flowers in our hair and a song in our hearts
until I wake up,
and there is dark, and cold
it was nothing but a fantasy for a fool drenched in gold.
You chose to exist, though I screamed, you resist,

now I must spend my eternity alone.

No matter what objects
you hurl into the void in abject rage
it will still be empty.

and no matter what thoughts
you send through the mirror
the reflection still cuts

and there is still a hole.
An abyss to look into-
pray nothing looks back.

Do not allow yourself
to be distorted, to be removed
by your own hands

by your own mind
and its perception
of emptiness and void.

I like my reflection better
when it is dark.
So I can see nothing but echoes.

I like my thoughts better
when it is dark.
So I can feel nothing but rage.

There’s a black hole in my heart and a supernova in my mind.
But I don’t mind
because it lets me disappear.
And when they come probing into my brain I can
Annihilate. Them.
I crush stars between my teeth and trample them below my feet
until I am coated in a fine layer of stardust.
Maybe it will make me harder to see among the infinite darkness
that I know and love, that they hate and fear
because I am made of fire, and they are not.

The supernova in my mind caused the black hole in my heart.
Why can’t I feel?
Why can’t it be real?
And when they come bearing gifts I can
Annihilate. Them.
Numbed by my endless ice and darkness
until they break into a thousand particles.
But before that, they usually run away
because that is exactly what I want, even though sometimes it isn’t
because I don’t think I’m real, except in my own head.

The black hole in my heart destroyed the supernova in my mind
Is it even real?
Am I even real?
And when I come asking for help they have
Forgotten. Me.
Maybe because they’re all dead.
I wish the ink on my page could become your blood.
I wish the voice in my head would become yours.
I wish and I want and I dream of
the existence of you, or the nonexistence of me

But there is nothing more that I can do except let the black hole I created
consume
me
entirely.