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Greg Parke : Photography & Poetry

Angel of Death

The stench of death, burning in my nose
I’ve just ended my life by ending yours
I have no where to go now, no where to hide
I’m down on m y knees, begging the sky, please
I have to go now, I must leave this place
Life, can be taken from a blade
There’s blood on my hands, I’m not bleeding
Since you left, the Angel of Death has come to find me
He’ll make me pay, he’ll make me pay 
I’m a rusty steel blade, horrific and life ending
Flakes of rust in your blood, the blood that’s colouring my clothing
I’m trying to run, like the rain in the gutter, flowing to sewer
A place beneath us I go, underground in hiding, my own hell
Life, can be taken from a blade, held by the hand of man
My hands tremble, they shake, regretting their strong grasp
The Angel of Death has come to find me, and reunite us
The steel of the blade, it scares me, but it stays with me
The end of breath, just lying there, movement stolen
By the wrong choice that was made, made by my sickened mind
That was made for you, by my sickened mind, dark
Life, like a blade can be broken, shattered
The blade sinks in maroon, drenched and reeking, broken in two
When I go, the Angel of Death will bring me back, bring me back to you
Life, like a blade, can be forged, remade, but not the same, a seam will show
The blade sometimes not fixable, shattered beyond recognition
I’m standing up, and overhead view of the cuts, the blade and hilt in my hand
The Angel is waiting for me, searching for dark, searching the shadows
Life, like a blade, can be found, even with hiding, he’s coming for me
The blade can be found, even with hiding, he’s coming, save me
When I go, the Angel of Death will bring me back