Writing 201: Day 3, Rough cut pre-write

A night, a nightmare, a damned, a day

Slow steady motion of a metal angel, over the soft shell of a soul to deliver a life away from pain

An angelic finger pricks my hairs with anticipation, my veins laid bare to invite mortal sin

A mortal veil of alabaster shades turns more pale with every razor run, turning red with the flow of what steals my warmth

A sin to slice with mine own hand the stretched canvas of skin I call a body, as by the heavens I am damned

The heat singes and cracks the fleshy paint covering my muscles, what beasts with their jagged forms and vicious claws await to shred the form to which I cling

As an invitation is extended from deep below

Every morning I awake from suicidal visions, a shade less than I was before

As in dreams I feel the devils presence, in the mirror I see his form


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