He was the definition of juxtaposition. This whole time, he has been both the LORD and The Adversary, the lamb and the serpent. He fought so hard to save me, a mislead child, and raise me to my salvation and a place with his Heavenly Host, all the while damning me to an eternity of fire and suffering. Give and take, give and take. He was an unmerciful God and a merciful demon, all at once, and with one clawed hand he took hold of my heart as another hand, soft and loving, caressed my face with gentle care. While one thumb traced my cheekbone with all the attention of a lover, those malicious claws ripped my forsaken heart from my very chest and squeezed with all the hate of a wronged brother. My blood dripped from between those unearthly fingers as his lips tasted mine.
My salvation.
Just as soon as he now owned what he thought his, he let me go and stole my pathetic, half-beating heart to add to an ever-growing collection. His hands would touch me, one hand burning and scratching and the other cooling and soft as water. His teeth bit into my flesh to taste my blood, and only once he had learned to memorize every valley and every mountain of my body and my mind did that angel leave me. Free falling through a cutting, icy wind he left me, and went along his merry way as I floundered to my demise. He had not even the good nature to sew to my back wings of tar and feathers.
My body hit the ground, but I felt no pain. I was a hollow shell, a hallowed hall, that no longer housed a holy spirit he could attain.
And so this is what I have become–a monster, an unholy being with his name carved into my flesh. One moment I am a calming breeze, and the next I am a raging storm. I love and I hate. I hurt and I don’t. I fall and I fly.
I walk by all the places he is said to be seen every day. I want to force him to see, force him to look at what he has turned me into–a shade, a phantom dark as night and sleek as smoke he cannot touch. An empty temple of a long-forgotten deity, standing piteously lonely and full of vengeful natures, full up of songs and hymns that speak his name in words unknown to him. And he does–that demon, he hurts, but not so much as I. Somewhere, in his care, my faint heart still beats at a distance from me, long since forgotten on a shelf in his mind. He has filled it with pins, ripped it into pieces with his hands, made it a play-thing he may have once found amusement in.
But the monster that came to live under his bed would like to have it back, to cram back into her ragged chest that she may breath again, and become the very thing he fears the most. For it is her turn to conquer him.


Angel–Part 2: The Encounter

I was rushing. Power walking down the crowded downtown streets, my mind a whirlwind tornado of thoughts plummeting through the imagined red darkness of the brain. Constant voices recited my thoughts at a rapid rate, making it impossible for me to focus on any tangible thing.

A box.
Dried flowers.
Expos t-shirt, card, letters, poems.

I squeezed my eyes, hands shoved deep in my pockets.

“You aren’t beautiful, you’ve got fucked problems, I just felt bad for you.”

And even after all this time, I felt tears sting the back of my eyes.

“I gave you everything, you’re selfish and abusive and I deserve more.”

But all I did was my best. My level best. The accusations cut deeper every time I remember them. The truths I told him he threw back at me as accusations in a blinding rage.
I know I am better off alone. But the ghost of my ex lover haunts me every day. I see him in the teenagers kissing sweetly when they think no one is watching, I see him in the sunsets, in sushi restaurants, in gardens along the streets, in tiny apartments atop downtown businesses. As if I could, I tried to squeeze my eyes tighter together. I picked up speed and rounded a corner.
And I found myself staring up at the sky suddenly, a ringing in my ears and my head pounding. I stared past the concerned face that presented itself, his voice lost in the ones floating through my head. I didn’t look at him until his hands cupped my face. My eyes met his–greenish grey, in a warm and kind face with full lips and long spiky hair. For a moment I had to pause, and process the angel before me.
His voice is what sold me. His accent kissed my ears and snapped me from my trance. I only nodded in response to his question. He wrapped his arms around me and lifted me to my feet as if I weighed nothing. As he drew himself up to his full height, my eyes widened and he laughed, gesturing towards a café across the street. The recognition hit me in the stomach like a ton of bricks–the man from my dreams.
I waited to awake. And waited. Waited. But I didn’t.
As we began walking, the grating sound of a cell phone ring tone interrupted the smile forming on his lips. Pausing, he pulled the phone from his pocket and answered. Faintly I heard a voice on the other end, sounding none too happy. The man drew a hand down his face and rolled his eyes slightly–I recognized my welcome by his side had been overstayed, and with a slight wave and a smile I took me leave. His eyes lingered on me and he waved back after hesitating for a moment, and with a sad smile I could see even in his eyes I turned and walked down the sidewalk, the beginnings of winter winds biting through my thin university jacket as autumn leaves tumbled about my feet.
As I lay awake that night in my tiny apartment, I couldn’t help but wonder if he had watched me leave, or if he had turned away himself.