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Poetry The holocaust of the Angels,
Burning under a bloody sun.
Envisioned by Him in my nightmare,
Enscribed on the commandment stone,
"The Angel hath sinned, and 'ere
this night shall mark her end."
She was struck down with a bolt of dark light,
Blood raging inside an icy hot tomb,
Silver pouring from her gored chest.
With holy curses and heretical words,
We give her now to the hidden ones,
To invoke their sin unto her.
I laughed when she died.
I laughed when she died.
I'd laugh IF she died. Hehe... my worst rival. Sarah Love. Tall, bitchy, tan, beachy blonde hair. The epitome of the Rich Popular Girl. God how I dislike (I prefer not to HATE) her. The angel does sin though. A lot. Another amazingly detailed and realistic piece of writing. *another round of applause for the amazing Amphetamine*