Longing for the kiss of bitter reality,

Much of bare humane nature has been deprived of mentality.

Though the holy reputation,

The Anglican halls fill with the souls of the unwanted and unloved.

Much atonement to be done,

All in the name of Himself.

Said a few prayers amidst this deadly nightshade,

filled with poison,

But blessed with beauty and rage.

Shaking the wings of their terrible youth,

we strayed from the heavens above.

Mistaking pain for love,

masochists,

with the love for such *******,

all alone in our dark paradise.

Whilst we knew that the “happy ending” that love promised

is likely to never be fulfilled,

We went in search of the rich wine that intoxicates us,

the empty pitcher.

After searching for our angel for decades, we finally

stumbled upon him,

He helped us to unfurl our wings and guided us, the devils,

to soar high into the heavens in ourselves,

Constantly reminding us,

that the devil,

was once an angel too.

through a silver thread our love is intertwined, leaning on the edge of a silver knife and the nape of a man you once loved, much can be undone.

such unearthly love they’ll say, much like the lines on your weathered forehead. The end is nigh, like a loose string hanging around your frail neck, bonds made to be never broken.

hand in hand, the traveling jeans of downtown abbey, such a compromise aristocrats could not bear to lose.

In the old days it was enough, card games and slow dancing in the dark, tasting much of the old stored in the cellar, spirits and conservative values alike.

but can much be said, when the raging of the dying of the light is proved useless? spinning, we can’t sit still, advertised in blue skies, our young blood must’ve been shed.

idealism and passion sits idle, in a prison, a prison we call home. shackled by sandy shores, the foundations of this earth are restrained, like the rose petals that fall from your lips.

twirling and twirling, grace and femininity indoctrinated from young, much can be undone.