Bloody Angel

By

Guardian Angels - A Shrine to the Chosen

Genesis…

The beginning.

What did it mean?

It is irrelevant to me.

Nothing matters.

I am only interested

In extremity.

The end.

Existence…

Am I alive?

The beating heart,

The hot liquid blood,

Surging through this body

They are not mine.

I am a fragment.

Soul…

The essence of life.

I have it not.

I am empty, barren,

A void.

If I am not alive…

I must be dead.

But no, that is wrong.

Death …is me.

Mortality…

So transient, fleeting

Futile.

Broken so easily

In my hands.

Come to me,

Let me guide you,

Shelter you then

With these crimson wings.

After all, I am no one

But your bloody guardian angel.