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Draw an Angel

I will draw an angel
And she'll have paper wings
A custom photograph
To print on my epitaph
When the church bells ring

So I pick a pencil and click in some lead
I know it's graphite but I like to feel
That I have the power of poison in my hands

So I pick a pencil and sketch a feather
Try to recall the wings that I can't remember
Try to be the photo's developer

For a negative that never existed

I will etch an angel
And she'll be skinned in scarlet
A little deeper than a tattoo
Sin? Yes I'll trace that too
And see how it sells on the black market

Play with pocketknives and switch the blades
Make an art out of the masses' escape
Play with pocketknives and switch on the music
Contemplate how the demigods sing
But I still don't remember how to draw her wings

Yes I would paint an angel
And she'd have charcoal eyes
Paint my own Monet
To grace the funeral soiree
My eloquent elegiac design

But I've forgotten what a wing looks like
And it's hard to photograph a bird in flight

Meeting Snow

I walk into the arms of Winter.
It's a cinematic scene.
I am but a salient splinter,
a needle in the seams.

Soft fabric of silence with an elaborate design:
the sound of a crystal kiss and snowflakes
meeting pavement.

And Winter casts her aphrodisiac zephyr;
sweeps her breathy mantle across my eyes.
Numbing wind,
cleansing sin,
I blink away the light.
Cause Winter's daughters don't want to be seen
as they make love to the ground.
So they scream a glare to veil their peace.
My senses ringing, I drop the house-keys
into the white and without a sound.

Soft fabric of silence with a cute little tear:
the sound of a crackling kiss and myself
meeting snow.

Voodoo

Tetanus tweezers on the
cutely stained paper-white
tiles. Made more pretty
by the painter and her
burgundy brush.
Lying on the deranged montage;
glass and ceramic:
"modern" art collage.

Curled into a fetal
position, clutching a needle,
(frozen incision)
voodoo doll sews her skin
apart.
(Trailing red thread.)

Paper towels like the shirts of
gunshottodeath corpses strew themselves
over the tiles: artificial clouds
hanging over streams of cherry juice.

While the broken jazz tune plays
half-step chromatic repeats.
And there's a pin floating in the sink;
bowl filled with a watery paint mix.
It drifts along with bits of skin,
while the broken jazz tune plays
half-step chromatics. Erratic,
like the flickering of the dim-bulb
glinting gruesome over
the slashed silken skin of
Miss-overplayed-with Voodoo (TM)
doll.

Warranty expired a few months back.

The ring of a cellular phone splits
the already jagged jazz along with its
unfinishedbasementesque lighting.

It is answered only by a catch in her breath.
Cause she's still curled into a fetal
position, clutching a needle
froze in incision
Voodoo doll
rips her
seams
apart.

She needs another spool,
cause she's out of red thread.

Lavender

On a synthetic seat,
sleeping. Sable curtains draped
head over hand(rail)s.
Aluminum icicle under my neck,
piercing through the calico scarf,
and Winter wafting in, as
another passenger boards the bus.
Clutch the coat more tightly.

Fairies; lachrymal liquid mirrors,
gleam brightly flour/iridescent
as they cling to the now moving
screen [picture].

Head turned, my patronage to the
optical serenade. Spidery neon lights
dance a mazurka, [Satirical]
to my forced amnesiac high.
The brilliant parodies of
(ethe)real noir memories;
whirling dervishes asleep
at 70 miles per hour.

Dreaming of traffic lights and trench coats.

Pull the string; manual alarm clock.
It may be pointless, but it's my stop.

Splattered onto the sidewalk to a sedative symphony;
soprano salt-water fairies and tenor tires on pavement.
And the bus section gave a grand finale as it fared well.
Splash.

And then I saw the silhouette
waiting (for me),
alone at the coffee shop table
like a stencil painting:
midnight construction paper
and swaths of flickering violet.
[Ionized argon]

I could see the lavender
in the raindrops.

Attic

Sol was clad in padlocks scarred
Cognoscenti called it art
Beauty in steal mechanisms
Plastic programmed poeticisms

And they hid the sun inside the rafters
In eclipse: "Happily ever after."
"Rape the lightbulb, rape the lightbulb!"
Painted like the s**t of seagulls

Fiery quartz inside the wristwatch
Riven by whitewashed screwdrivers
Though postmortem, solar cyst sought
Vestal vengeance on lewd pliers

Sol was clad in padlocks scarred
Cognoscenti did insist a panic
Phantom maiden in vespertine garb
Her hallowed revenge so systematic

Ehee... thanks. xd

Wow, that's really...metaphorical. So much so that it's almost confusing. Don't you just hate it when you right something that doesn't jus come right out and say what it means, and when you try to share it, people stare like you belong in an assylum?
'Nywho, the part about the padlocks is interesting. Your talent awes me. I'm going off to find other things you've written...