Angels

In the glow of the evening sun,
The angel arrives, the angel comes,
With golden skin and golden wings,
An angel whispers, an angel sings,
They're beauty outside but ugly within,
Angels aren't virtue, angels are sin,
All-knowing minds you cannot fool,
Masters of evil, masters of cruel,
Cunning eyes as small as beads,
An angel lures, an angel feeds,
A gentle bite to human skin,
The blood flows out, the blood flows in,
Pointy teeth now stained with red,
A human dying, a human dead,
Sharp claws tear the flesh apart,
To reach their favourite, to reach the heart,
In the glow of the morning rise,
The angel leaves, the angel flies.

The Creature

The creature rose from the flames, it's mouth stretched into a silent scream. It's face, once beautiful, was distorted unnaturally and burnt flesh tore away in strips, leaving it raw underneath. As if sensing it was being watched, the creature's head snapped round to face the girl. She gagged and her hands flew to cover her mouth. Where the creature's eyes should have been were two bloody gouges, as if it had scratched it's eyes out with it's own talons. Perhaps it had.

Making You Laugh

"I could not push away the burning desire to make you laugh. As if your laughter was the sound that fuelled me, brought me to life. I could not live without it, for the thing that gave me the most happiness was seeing you happy."

Bluebell

Every year on this same day he returned to this spot. Always alone, always clutching a single bluebell, freshly picked. This year, his brown hair veiled his eyes, he had to keep shoving it back. It hadn't been cut for a while. The hands that were wrapped around the bluebell stem were red and cracked, the nails bitten down. His skin was washed out and shadows lurked beneath his eyes. He was tired, so tired, but he did not let this get in the way of what he had to do today, what he had to do on this day every year.