The Jonathan Ricketts Poetry Collection

Evil Angel

The halo was carved of onyx.
Her embrace as cold as ice.
She was the embodiment of sin, though still she was kind, she was very nice;
Though once golden and whole, her wings are now worn, black, and tattered.
The warmness in her soul, it disappeared once her heart was shattered;
Pale, simply radiant.
Her beauty was flawless.
Though some saw her beauty fully clothed, some preferred her braless;
She lets tears slide down her pristine face, every night after her show is done.
She thinks herself a disgrace,
Fights with razors and has never won;
She sobs, bleeding out innocence behind her door.
She remembers those better times, when she was an angel like long before.
She lost her innocence to a demon, which truly killed her deep inside.
She lost her virginity to him, and with that, her precious pride.
She, long ago,
She was pure, with a warm, loving glow.
Now her only friend is whiskey, shooting doubles often, whenever she's feeling low;
She was a perfect little saint.
Kind, caring, and beautiful;
She'd been hurt a thousand times, before she felt comepletely broken.
It wasn't until the thousandth time, she finally slashed her poor heart open.