My Sweet Angel of Death

My ankles burn and my wrists ache,
these unseen shackles from another world;
they keep me in my place,
in the dusty attic where my body will be sold.

with the wings of a fallen angel,
and the complexion of God's own life;
draining from me every day,
7 deaths i will face after 100 years of living this strife.

i would kill myself,
i swear i would;
i slit my wrists every night,
and i would bleed if i could.

but the only thing,
that leaks from my iridescent skin;
is a heavenly substance,
it is what you mortals seem to call "sin".

as my wings were ripped from me,
and my organs were taken from my body;
as my fate is decided,
and my name is written in Hell for all eternity.

i find that greed,
can overcome your soul;
no matter how pure, how angelic,
the dirty thing can consume you whole.

i cant leave this skin,
no matter how disgusted i have become;
i cannot escape my eternal burning,
i went from Gabriel to the devil's chosen one.

broken and battered,
ripped and torn;
God spat me out like a dirty wretch,
now i know every rose surely has its thorn.

now,
as human as i have become;
i have learned they have their own escapes,
as periods of darkness hit them all one by one.

alcohol is my master's best friend,
a house near here enjoys the occasional methamphetamine;
needles please the children down the road,
and the family in the streets begs for some money to buy some ecstasy.

although the high wears off,
and the low becomes lower with every use;
the pain is freed,
and demons linger here to help me search for an excuse.

i scream at unseen predators,
that feed on my flesh;
the roaches scream my name and i get no peace,
for being banished from the heavens leaves me with so much unrest.

i am ungodly,
and for this i am blamed;
for i wanted just one kiss from the lips of the angel of death,
and for that self-righteous sin i am put to shame.

the keeper of the gates,
said i was worthy to enter in;
but now that i have eaten the forbidden fruit,
Hell will engulf my soul and my body winces from my daily sin.

occasionally i will get lucky,
and the buzzards will leave me to the darkness;
thee hath forgiven me one too many times,
so this dust-filled prison is my new chamber of sadness.

the humans,
they stare as if i am a freak;
but only few have an Ora light enough,
so their soul God may keep.

how i would love to break free of my unseen manacles,
shed tears other than gold;
how i would love to know what it feels like,
to fly free with my lover to hold.

my sweet angel of death,
please call unto me;
caress my bruised and bloody lips,
show that you hath not forsaken thee.