As my arms are wrapped up in bloody shrouds
I’m looking at the sky’s blackened clouds
And I wonder what I have done with my life,
Does my destiny have the face of a knife?

I was once a creature, so pure and so frail,
But my hair turned dark, and my skin turned pale,
My arms were soaked with shame
And “blade” is my best friend’s name…

I cover my face with a mourning veil,
To hide, on my cheek, my tears’ trail,
I wear long sleeves, so my secret remains concealed
And bear a mask so my feelings aren’t revealed…

I’m looking for my murderer but in vain
When I find him I’m blinded by an opaque rain,
Someone once told its name to me
It sounded harsh and cruel, it is Reality…

I try to run away, but on bloody wings I cannot fly,
I escape in pain, but my veins will soon run dry,
I wonder why my halo carries so many thorns
Is it a curse from The One With Horns?

Sometimes I really ask myself (or what is left from it)
Why I’ve let myself fall into that dark pit,
Why I so strongly wish to take my life away from here
Why I always hide my scars and hold my tears?

If I asked help I had almost nothing in return,
So my flesh I wound and my skin I burn,

I believe that if I kill myself others won’t be able to,
I try hard to forget all that I have been through,
I try to kill my bad memories with my own hands,
And in my mind I replace with enemies all my once beloved friends…

I’m the archangel that Reality did mutilate,
I had a mission, but death was my fate,
My mind’s no longer the cradle of my memory,
For my past is written on my wounded body…

~*the mutilated archangel*~

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