"What do you mean, when you say 'angel'?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean why do you call me that. What does that word mean to you?"

"You know what it means."

"Sometimes I think I do."

"It means dark thing. Because there's a violence to it. Because it's hard to see. Like looking at the body in the distance- the thing standing between the trees, with only the faint glow of the moon illuminating its face."

"You think angels are dark?"

"I think angels are mysterious. You know they're there, but that's it. You think you know what they are, what they look like, but you're incapable of grasping their image."

"So, what does that look like?"

"It looks like everything. And nothing. Total darkness, blinding light."

"Sounds.. overwhelmingly incomprehensible."

"That's why it looks like different things to different people. A woman, a man, the recurring nightmare from your childhood. Some people think it looks wrong. But to an angel, there is no wrong way to have a body."

"Now why does that sound familiar?"

"I think an angel looks like a sword. Like the terrifying indifference of nature, and the undying, righteous rage of a person with a good heart. All and none, never wrong in their being."

"And this is what you call me?"

"Yes. This is what I call you.
My darling mystery. My dark thing.
My angel."

You write letters with your broken pen
after waking up from a dream
undisturbed, among peonies soaked in water
your feet rest against the sand
that once kissed the moon
and the stars write back to you
transcripts of our conversations,
like fragrance, they leave a trail in the wind
and we remember them
on those odd nights of wakeful dreaming

2am talking to you...
The hum of a neon sign, Emitting light so tranquil
Purple Luminescence on your face. The sparkle in your eye, it brings life to all...
The smile in your words     In comparison everything so small.    

In conversation vocalising the deep within

What can I say, 2am there is no filter Here.

The euphoria so intense
all Existence has so much Distance,
the world fades away...

Quizzed with the words you speak
Everything begins to dull
Everything so quiet and clear

The realisation of how much I hold you dear
I'd hate to think what I'd do  
Without you here

I rehearse conversations
that I will never have
and yet
find myself
perpetually
unable to say
what I had truly meant.

I long for love.
Don't we all?
But this is different, I don't want to be loved.
I want to love.
Isn't that the same thing?
No.
To be loved is to perceived,
to be known,
to be seen,
to be held.
I don't want any of those things,
I'm terrified of that.
To love is to perceive,
to know,
to see,
to hold.
I want all of those things,
I ache for that.
But to have one, you need the other.
Then,
I'd rather have none.

It's been a long, long time
I'm not sure if you remember me!
However, the signs your eyes telling you do! .. but don't dare to stare!

Yet, I see anxiety as it may seem, more worse the last time! Surprised you didn't get any better!
We've talked about it all!
What's left to talk about!
I tried to help over and over but you don't listen don't you
We've talked about it all!
What's left to talk about

You have it all in your hands
Instead! You stood helpless and watched your end and still..

Once again you are holding the same thing over and over again. The same thing that kept you up until the dawn each night and left you sleepless. Shame! Looks heavy on you. You didn't get any better!

I cannot believe you are not trying!
Instead you're making it feel more worse up to now! Your fears! Each time, you cannot step any further believing your past will reappear. You let those dark energies dig into your soul's doors and chains you with its powers.

You are trapped by the monster you made.
The monster thay kept winning!