ANGELS BANGING IN MY HEAD


Angels banging around in my head...telling me of this...telling me of that. Angels don't speak in soft murmurs...they are not creators of calm and reassurance...they are strident and righteous...they are cymbals and trumpets...they are voices loud and ugly. Angels...smooth faces...serene countenance...means nothing and everything. You look good...you angels...but there's a darkness to you...it clings. Mascara smears the surface...but never runs deep. You are like a big red rosy apple...gorgeous sheen on the surface...ugly puke and puss inside. Don't tell me you're here to save my soul...cut me a deal...make it all better. I'd rather sit at table...break bread...drink wine...with a demon...at least they can quietly whisper.

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