The scent of an angel drifts through my reminiscent graveyards. By and by, little beads of heaven will wash out the pangs that grated my heart. Cloud out whatever that boiled in me. Cloud out whatever that remains a blemish that drove my mind out into sewage recollections. I cannot help my own hands to write what i used to. But only to find the papers stained by a handwriting driven by love. Somehow, they only remain what they are now. Paper stains outlasting ironically the confessions they read.

Hunted down by my own atrocity, I know I need no more to gouge out my eyes to shroud the grief I have set upon myself. I smiled a smile that stayed too long. I smiled a murdered smile, holding back the axe with my head in the hood, picking up pieces of stones that fell along the way into the mire.

The scent of an angel has hidden itself from me where I no longer have the courage to stand up to my resolute grounds. And I cannot suffer the pains my legs receive when they trudge upon the fiery nails hell cannot even hold. And I get drunk on self pity, something that lodged into my intestines and unwilling to pass itself out, talons digging deep and stiff. Stiff from too long in limbo. And now it just decides poisoning me on self-deprecation shall more or less do the job. I get knuckled under.

Fairies leap their trips on their flutterers bounding. Spraying the emulated fragrances that cannot last long as they nose out. Skunk out. Rudely fuming hard nostril punches driving deep into a teary burn. They don't and will never meet on equal grounds. For they are merely fairies soon to wilt and crumble to sprinkle. Dissolving into an obscurity they never thought they'd end up.

An angel is unfairy. And I've wrenched her out. And I miss her...