schuldig

Just a little blind poetry. No thought, no real inspiration, just writing till I felt it was finished. Hope you all enjoy it.
~T



I asked the man thats hanging from my ceiling
If he knew what was wrong.
Why should you bother, pretty angel? he asked me back
His voice jolly and sincere.
So I left hi with the knife in his back
Walking away like a hobo
- desperate and wandering
I cried out of shear frustration
And the clouds sympathized with me
Why, Lord, why must angels suffer so?
At the hands of mortals
At the hands of men
Hands touching and probing
Fitting like they should.
No one knows
But Michael did once
You cant love without also hating
You cant fuck without wanting to kill
Love is the prelude to a most beautiful end
Color me red. She pleads.
She was asking for it. She asked you nice.
I walk the streets in a daze
Incongruous and frightened
I dont fit like those hands fit
I dont fit like that anger fits
I cant fit into the tub and bath in your blood
My Self is bigger than my body
Bigger than my body
The world is bigger than my body
And I am crushed under its terrible weight
Wait
Wait and see
See, listen and then maybe youll learn
Learn something new
Something old
Something borrowed
Like this life
The walk home is a dizzying one
The sky weeps for me
An angel left to fend for herself
A being not of this world yet stuck in its drudgery
Another cog thrown into the mix
The man hanging from my ceiling is still there when I return
He laughs and greets me,
Angel! Beautiful angel!
I ask him again, what is wrong
He says he cannot say
Cannot or will not?
Will not and cannot all the same, pretty one.
Im not pretty. I whisper as I leave up the stairs.
He still has the knife in his back
And the rope around his neck.
I go to my room where the spiders live
And sit in my chair
The only furniture in the room
My chair is wood and Ive carved the spells of my ancestors into it
Perhaps one day they will work for me
And hes screaming downstairs
Screaming and screaming
And screaming, screaming.
It lulls me to sleep
That beautiful screech.
And I am hollow and cold
The spells on my magick chair no comfort
No comfort.
I wake to myself aflame
Just like the morning before.
I walk downstairs
The man hanging from my ceiling is quiet
No greeting
No singing
I inspect him
His hanging form
The rope is still there
The swollen abrasions from hanging for so long still there.
The knife
The knife is gone
The knife that fit so well in the middle of his spine.
Someone took it out.
The smell of soap and salt hangs in the air
I follow it outside
And there is a man
With his strong hands
Holding the knife
He took my knife from my Hanged Man
How dare you. I barely whisper.
He smiles
He smiles his easy, bloodthirsty, lovely smile.
I dare, I dare, beautiful angel.
He knows me
Hes always known me.
The clouds break.
The sky stops its endless weeping.
He knows me
I dare, -------
He knows my name.