The Kiss of an Angel... of Death.

And then I cried,
not because I am deprived of love,
but because I am given one.
Tears blurred my vision,
such beauty he holds, such radiance in his eyes.

Before, he was nothing;
but an entity, a living myth, a god.
But, I forgot, that even gods could love.
Even gods could feel hurt.
Even gods could feel.

The way his lavender eyes rest on mine,
Made my heart crash like the waves of an ocean,
Cause an epicenter in my stomach,
Create a whirlwind in my lungs.
I am arrested by the way he looks at me,
As if I'm more precious than anything,
Anyone.

I can feel the soft touch of his callous hands,
Oh how I want to hold them, take comfort
From the hardness of the hard, hard world.
I need to feel his...
His...
I can't breathe...
His lips...
The soft caress of his gentle...

I passed out.

Pieces

Glass.
People are like glass,
they appear unbreakable, but in the face of a hammer they are soft as a feather.
Easily broken down to bits and pieces with a hard swing,
they are broken;
nullified from their strength in one
and divided by their weakness in numbers.
The only substantial use of broken glass is to murder.
Isn't that how we humans are?
After we've been broken,
after we've been shattered,
there is no more use to us but to end another's misery.
But there is something that baffles me:
How do we manage to piece ourselves back together, after we've been shattered?