I look in the mirror but the face that looks back isn't mine, is it? I don't remember, my own reflection clouded by my fog and changed by my hate.
Like a puppet on some strings, I do the same again, staring at eyes like glass, fragile and broken. They taunt me from beneath My skin, the corners of my head loud and fuzzy with a swirl of cold. I don't know who I am anymore.
The angels, they hold me, and won't let me go. They sink their fangs into my flesh until we are 1, where I am him and he is I. Where he bows to my will as I bow to his. Till I question, who is the master then? Can I control the bloodlust I owe to my skin when I realise the angel is well and truly only me?
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Musings and drabbles
General FictionRandom short writings and pieces, all done by me. They can and will get dark.
