It was when my mother drowned herself with vodka to burn the taste of my father's lips. Between the pages of her journals, I'd become curious of the memories she made within her books, the comfort of his skin became his refuge. Within the stom they created flowers grew from her lungs and bloomed within her mouth.

"I can't fucking stand you, Anna." His words were venomous and it felt like I had been hit with his fist, bruised with words that will never fade. Windows were opened and beneath my parents resided, often they spent their Friday nights dancing with soft music, this time the sounds of plates shattering replaced the softness of the piano.

Words painted pretty across in her handwriting, as if it had been a language of her own.

"A wild sea of love remained within the walls of my beating heart now it becomes hollow; echoes of my own voice, though your name shows across the ink behind the attempt at scratches. Letters haunt and I am left with what was once you. My mouth is full of lies, when I said I loved you, I never have. I don't know, maybe I was lonely and only enjoyed the comfort you offered with your body. It's become a habit of mine feeling the liquor burn my throat and stare at empty hands. Remembering when your fingers laced perfectly into my own. I haven't eaten anything in days, but I've listened to the playlist you've made for days whenever our words fail to cross and drip from our tongues. Language of twenty-six letters perfectly strung, words you left across my chest in the night our bodies touched for the first time. Your lies drip like honey from the mouth of an old lover, I used to write about you when you broke my heart with your talented tongue and edges kept so sharp like blade unused, but fell in love when the blades of moved back within your hold. We've shared a summer sort of love, until the leaves tinted into yellow then when the autumn air touched our skin and only left a mark with small goosebumps it was then we knew what empty was. Was it my fault or yours? Promises made too early and your soul has left this Earth too soon, I hopelessly wonder what heaven sounds like now that they’ve taken your laughter. It becomes foolish of me to believe in a God whose sense of humor makes him a masochist. A city we’ve built only to demolish our buildings and walking through rubble."

The color of innocence

Does not come in white,

Unless painted on the wings.

Skin peeled white gold.

Hands by his creator saw in his

own image of beauty, of grace.

Perfection is no longer. 

Our blood is the small grains of sand

Our bodies are the hour glass

Our lives are the precious time inside

It's only a matter of years, months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds, before the Moirai cut the thread, that holds your life.

Before Thanatos arrives, taking you to the underworld.

Before you cross the Styx, meeting the ferryman.

It is ony a matter of time.

Following Hermes, as he leads you to the God of the Underworld.

Hades determines your punishment.

Tartarus for the wicked.

Elysium for those who are not.

It is only a matter of time, before the blood drains and our bodies shrivel.

It is only a matter of time before the grains run out, and the hourglass shatters

I.

You fixed the pieces of me that were torn, broken, shattered.

II.

You promised me love, I believed.

III.

You left, because I couldn't say I love you. Three words couldn't escape, but I showed you. I showed I am capable of loving.

He left himself in disgust the moment her footsteps faded from echoing and left through the the door. Another night spent with a stranger in sheets soaked with regrets and emptiness, unhappiness and unwantedness. Night after night he took another, finding himself searching for comfort or those familiar brown eyes he once locked with months ago.

Her.

He wanted her, her, her.

A three syllable name, a name meaning God has answered. She was the answer to his prayers, to what he needed. perfection filled her eyes in th chocolate abyss he fell for, the features carved into perfection.

Her.

Her.

Her.

He left himself in disgust the moment her footsteps faded from echoing and left through the the door. Another night spent with a stranger in sheets soaked with regrets and emptiness, unhappiness and unwantedness. Night after night he took another, finding himself searching for comfort or those familiar brown eyes he once locked with months ago.

Her.

He wanted her, her, her.

A three syllable name, a name meaning God has answered. She was the answer to his prayers, to what he needed. perfection filled her eyes in th chocolate abyss he fell for, the features carved into perfection.

Her.

Her.

Her.

Genesis

Exodus

Leviticus

Numbers

Deuteronomy

Joshua

Verses highlighted, and stories copied, my father held it close to him with a bottle of rum.

Judges

Ruth

1 Samuel

2 Samuel

1 Kings

2 Kings

1 Chronicles

2 Chronicles

Stories of fright, stories of true. Stories that the creator has long before seen.

Ezra

Nehemiah

Esther

Job

Psalms

Proverbs

Ecclesiastes

Telling rules, telling prophets. Many misinterpret the word, the holy word.

Song of Solomon

Isaiah

Jeremiah

Lamentations

Ezekiel

Daniel

Hosea

Joel

Amos

I forget stories of greats that stood before us all.

Obadiah

Jonah

Micah

Nahum

Habakkuk

Zephaniah

Haggai

Zechariah

Malachi

This is only the old Testament. 

His wings were torn

feather by feather.

Bones pulled out from the shoulder blades.

Blood trickled down

his back. Drip

by drip. 

His purity taken,

soul corrupted,

He was no more,

an angel of nothing.

No longer next to the lord.