Angel, Don't Cry...

The angel came to me that night,
What an endless battle she fought,
Wearing a robe drenched in blood,
Holding a tainted blade in her hand.

Her wings once white,
Lost the glimmer and shine,
Chained to her own wall of misery,
Wings drenched in blood, she ripped them off.

Flesh disconnecting from her wings,
Ripping from her skin,
Swallowing her in unfelt pain,
Shattered screaming through concrete walls.

"Angel tell me what's wrong...who did this to you?
Don't turn away, please look me in the eyes,
Tell me how many times you tried to die...
Tell me angel, why are you crying...?"

"A tainted soul, never to be redeemed,"
She whispered, "I don't want it..."
"Wings drenched in blood,"
"I don't want them..." She choked out.

Laying on the floor, lying in puddles of blood,
Laughing, but crying, twisted, but sane...
Couldn't keep her heart pure,
...Couldn't help herself...

She looked into the mirror; I saw she was me...
Slit wrists, bruises, cuts and red marks on my body,
And my father on the floor, I whispered,
"Angel don't cry..."

Rubbing our shoulders, red and bruised,
Running small traces of blood across gentle scars,
"Don't cry angel..." I whispered.
She whispered to me, "...No angel...don't you cry..."

(C) Christina Hurley.
01-09-2006