Bone Marmalade

Bone-like feathers tumble from a pair of wings,

the hollow shoulderblades of a fallen angel.

Lungs are filled by the absence of a breath,

Your soul is peeled from your body as if it were honey.

The fall is the beginning,

a head is crowned by a shattered halo of cartilage and carnations.

Roses cushion your fall at first,

But you sink into the thorns the moment those petals touch your second skin.

It is your blood that stains them,

It gouges out, granting you a pale cloak.

On the remnants of your previous self,

You stand. 

Crushed flowers, the color of milk,

Your past follows you everywhere.

Your throne is made of angel’s teeth,

Your glass windows from their eyes. 

Your court isn’t truly yours,

It only exists to defy him.

Death doesn’t just surround you,

It is you.

Truth is, you died when you fell.

The morningstar has stopped burning ever since.