There is an angel, fallen.
Behind the earthy grass,
beyond the misty dew,
lies her.
Her wings are bleeding,
covered in a red haze
that smelled like iron.
As she lifts them, Lead falls
and poisons the ground beneath.
She tries to drag herself to heaven,
leaving a trail.
You follow it,
curious of the bright
and shining dress she just so stained.
Her beauty is captivating,
as if Heaven herself
had found its place in you.
You try to hold her hand,
but to no avail.
She screams and lashes,
disguised as gentle lullabies in your ears.
You held her legs together
and dragged her closer to you.
She cries, calling your name—
where you thought you belong.
And as you pull her close,
she suffocates, undignified,
under your restless body.
And…
Here…
Now you ask me:
“Why does the light not prevail?”
I do wonder that too,
looking at you drowning the heavens
for your own pleasure.
I can still smell the blood
of your contemptuous bile—
that after everything,
you still chose to be selfish.
And you have smeared that blood
all over my face,
thinking I too
would indulge in it.
Be wary, dear.
There is blood in all of us.
You still smell fresh of it.
Jan 23
Jan 23, 2026 at 10:37 PM UTC
There is an angel, fallen.
Behind the earthy grass,
beyond the misty dew,
lies her.
Her wings are bleeding,
covered in a red haze
that smelled like iron.
As she lifts them, Lead falls
and poisons the ground beneath.
She tries to drag herself to heaven,
leaving a trail.
You follow it,
curious of the bright
and shining dress she just so stained.
Her beauty is captivating,
as if Heaven herself
had found its place in you.
You try to hold her hand,
but to no avail.
She screams and lashes,
disguised as gentle lullabies in your ears.
You held her legs together
and dragged her closer to you.
She cries, calling your name—
where you thought you belong.
And as you pull her close,
she suffocates, undignified,
under your restless body.
And…
Here…
Now you ask me:
“Why does the light not prevail?”
I do wonder that too,
looking at you drowning the heavens
for your own pleasure.
I can still smell the blood
of your contemptuous bile—
that after everything,
you still chose to be selfish.
And you have smeared that blood
all over my face,
thinking I too
would indulge in it.
Be wary, dear.
There is blood in all of us.
You still smell fresh of it.
for innocence.
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