The Last Angel




I see it all.

Each darkened corner full of monsters and pixie dust and the bodies of dead dreams piling like cordwood under dust bunny tarps.

The nightmarish coursers that haunt my waking hours smell like corrupted flowers and cinnamon fire; an obscene mix that sours my stomach and comforts what remains of my heart.

I see it all and it makes me want to simply accept fate and fade away and I would. I would except they won’t let me go. They won’t let me leave and trap me with I love you.

I love you.

I love you…




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