(A pseudo-minx obsessed with purple)
She’s got luscious lips
That creep into the most seductive
Smile…
And a set of black
Black wings
To match her fragile heart
Of ebony and fire…
She’s been crucified…
120 plus nails driven
Deep into a back too numb to feel
Earthly pain…
But scars of that sort
Exist only to make her more beautiful
(If one considers that to be
a modern-day possibility)
She’s a wayward sin
In a garden of lost
And misguided prayers…
A shrouded in purple priestess
Who decorates her sacred temple
With tears, lust, and blood…
But most of all…
She’s a special bleak-eyed
Angel…
Who is curled in a corner of her
Frantic little mind…
Busy mourning over and mending
Those broken
Broken wings
Even those without feathers still
*manage*
To fly…
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