The Churchyard Angel

By day and to those who can't see past the illusion, it resembles a peaceful, inanimate angel statue, threatening to no one. But this masks a terrible evil with hollow eyes and fleshy wings, a depraved horror that can control people like puppets and drive them insane.
This was originally a drawing that I started a while back, of some creature with a Glasgow-looking grin and a cracked face. So, as it often happens, this ironic "angel" gets some words devoted to it.

The churchyard angel
Waits for its time
To reap and ravage
What should be mine
But it's not an angel
Just pretending to be
A monster posed
So elegantly

Hairline cracks
Beneath your eyes
You deprive me of sleep
Every night
Your stare is hollow
Your presence disguised
As a silent psychosis
But that is a lie

A perpetual smile
That holds no mirth
The wings of a demon
Unnatural birth
Poisonous flowers
That paralyze
In twilight hours
From murk you rise

Rips in your flesh
Showing bone
And dagger teeth
Oh, how they've grown
You smile at me
And swallow me whole
Your ecstasy
My lack of control

Puppet strings
Inside my wrists
A helpless dance
A bloody kiss
Your face like a doll
Your soul is diseased
And when I fall
You're always pleased

The ivy creeps
Your stone skin cracks
To this hunting ground
I always come back
Under your wings
I grow so cold
You deprive me of words
So much untold

The End

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