He

Angels kiss the lips of Satan’s stolen souls

A touch with the power to keep demons at bay

I have angels on my shoulders…

They try to keep the devil off my back



As I walk through the snow white hills of heaven

I trip and fall into the amber glow of hell

Where were my angels?

My wings?

An accident by nature

A mistake at birth, and again in death

I don’t belong here or there

I don’t belong…



If I keep walking forward on this blind track

I’ll reach my destiny in due time

Led like a baby lamb to a slaughterhouse

I follow the leader by the pull of his strings



I hear the crying of children in windows I pass

Unable to turn my paralyzed eyes from the sight

Unable to shield my ears from the sounds of them dying

A constant echo of scratching nails on the glass

I see the petrified faces in the reflection of the flames

Little hands pressed against Plexiglas windows

In one last attempt to escape...to breathe before dying



Not waiting for them to earn their wings and join me in Hell

I keep walking to my slaughterhouse home

Where fate rests on the mantle in the shadow of an oil painting

The burning embers in the fireplace leave a shadow on the wall

A man I have seen before...but only dreams...dances in the shadows

In a perverse slide show he plays the role of God in my subconscious hell



He leans on the doorpost

Waiting and watching

A twisted smile on his deformed face reflects the fire from the hills

Knowing all the time that he owns my every thought

He laughs…



Knowing that he owns my every thought…

I die.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

June 24, 2002

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Dylan Mackowetzky's picture

shit.......... the imagery: i closed my eyes after each stanza, and i could vividly see each and every notion and emotion displayed, and much of the subliminal insinuations.
Damn, that image of the young lamb being led to the slaughterhouse, was powerful.
You need to keep on writing, you have alot to say. I feel like I can relate to you on an artistic level. Hang in there, hold onto your angels, and never stop writing what's in your mind.
Once again, to see the praise you have for my work, and then to read your's is a real honour for you truly are talented.
I'm going to work, but i'll be reading your other works later-
Dylan