An Ode to Muses to Melpomene

Tattoos

Angel is what you call me,

While you stitch my face onto your shoulder blades,

In hopes that you too sprout wings.

I point out all the places my feathers wilt black,

While you douse me with bleach.

Blasphemous is a name reserved for yourself,

The inked scripture does not deny you entrance to the pearly gates,

Though that is a biblical name,

That is an eternity's serenade.

Appearances fade to transparency while looking at Gabriel and the fallen angel.

Yet, we are both sons of the same Abrahamic God,

And waterfalls distort divine light into rainbow prisms.

I may be dusted with cotton clouds and golden halos,

But my neck is tied with silver thorns

And my mouth is threaded with spider webs each time I sing.

Snakes may wrap around your wrists as handcuffs,

But your beasts are not cold-blooded

And your eyes are sprinkled with the cinders of candlesticks.

I only know the soundtracks of screams,

While your hands memorized the harp's strings.

Ravens hold my eyes hostage,

As lambs bid you adieu.

I fear our icons will become distorted in stained glass windows.

As you see my heavenly body in the gaps of your paneled wings,

I remind you not to fly too close to the sun,

To best the fate of Lucifer and Icarus.

Our souls are poked with holes to breathe in our personal Tartarus,

As we religiously develop tropophobia.

Drench yourself in white varnish and take off your robe.

Lay my heart against yours so that I may also be pure.

Let us drink each other's wine to prevent malnourishment.

Maybe, we'll become intoxicated at every touch

And fall asleep in perfect harmony,

As we feed each other paint instead of bread.