(c) A darker wing, [PG-13]
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I am Revolution :: Words :: Stories :: Original Fiction
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(c) A darker wing, [PG-13]
by tea-boy. Sun 07 Jun 2009, 7:55 am
Title: A darker wing,
Rating: PG-13
Author: Me
Genre: Fiction.
Status: One-shot.
Summary/Excerpt:I can see the space between your wings, where the humanity hides. I can see the mistakes you've made written on your face.
Side note: Autobiogrifiction, if there's such a thing.
---
I can see the space between your wings, where the humanity hides. I can see the mistakes you've made written on your face. You'd do best to remember you're a tarnished white, don't fly away when you're not sure if your wings won't work. Blessings are a nightmare when you've got a dead angel on your hands. I felt the rope around your wrists as you pushed me up against a wall. I’m breathing heavy, but you’re trapped in your theology. You’re pressing hard against my lungs and I feel your breath on my face, a sweet lilac and liquor mix. You smirk, but you know, oh do you know. Theirs flickering lights in a bright white room, but your wing, your dress, they aren’t so white. I’m a mess, but you’re dirtier. Filth and vodka, a most perfect mix in your angelic little mind, a symphony of silent screams ring out in your chest, but I hear, I conduct. No longer will your sparkling eyes speak lullabies that twist their way up around the heart, no longer will you smile coy and break a heavenly laugh. The pressure’s getting tighter on my chest, but, tell me, what’s beating inside your body cavity? I can see the light pressing through those tainted white wings. Elusion and wonder are upon your face, but I know, I know who you really are. Angel, my angel, the water’s filling your lungs and you’re trapped inside your divinity. You intake air, but your lungs have collapsed under your own pressure. We’re two different people, you and I, but we’re the same, Angel. I can feel the tar and your wings and I’m laughing harder than my crushed lungs can take. We’re both criminals, jaded humans and filthy angels, and we’re both taking our last as the barometer in our left atrium spirals out of control. I can feel your clammy palm on my neck, twisting my hair into curl with your filthy little fingers. Emaciated angel, blacken your wings and match your soul. We’re longing for second chances in lightning storms; we’re not getting out of this alive.
Rating: PG-13
Author: Me
Genre: Fiction.
Status: One-shot.
Summary/Excerpt:I can see the space between your wings, where the humanity hides. I can see the mistakes you've made written on your face.
Side note: Autobiogrifiction, if there's such a thing.
---
I can see the space between your wings, where the humanity hides. I can see the mistakes you've made written on your face. You'd do best to remember you're a tarnished white, don't fly away when you're not sure if your wings won't work. Blessings are a nightmare when you've got a dead angel on your hands. I felt the rope around your wrists as you pushed me up against a wall. I’m breathing heavy, but you’re trapped in your theology. You’re pressing hard against my lungs and I feel your breath on my face, a sweet lilac and liquor mix. You smirk, but you know, oh do you know. Theirs flickering lights in a bright white room, but your wing, your dress, they aren’t so white. I’m a mess, but you’re dirtier. Filth and vodka, a most perfect mix in your angelic little mind, a symphony of silent screams ring out in your chest, but I hear, I conduct. No longer will your sparkling eyes speak lullabies that twist their way up around the heart, no longer will you smile coy and break a heavenly laugh. The pressure’s getting tighter on my chest, but, tell me, what’s beating inside your body cavity? I can see the light pressing through those tainted white wings. Elusion and wonder are upon your face, but I know, I know who you really are. Angel, my angel, the water’s filling your lungs and you’re trapped inside your divinity. You intake air, but your lungs have collapsed under your own pressure. We’re two different people, you and I, but we’re the same, Angel. I can feel the tar and your wings and I’m laughing harder than my crushed lungs can take. We’re both criminals, jaded humans and filthy angels, and we’re both taking our last as the barometer in our left atrium spirals out of control. I can feel your clammy palm on my neck, twisting my hair into curl with your filthy little fingers. Emaciated angel, blacken your wings and match your soul. We’re longing for second chances in lightning storms; we’re not getting out of this alive.
Last edited by peacemaker- on Sun 07 Jun 2009, 6:29 pm; edited 1 time in total (Reason for editing : checked: peacemaker.)
tea-boy.- Crusader
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I am Revolution :: Words :: Stories :: Original Fiction
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