i thought of angels
choking on their halos

(get them drunk on rose water)

fallen angels who rip the feathers from their backs and devour them hungrily, scrambling for every last shred of their former lives and trying to cram it back into their bodies, panicking when grace starts to bleed from cuts in their skin, slurping it from their veins, desperately trying to force themselves back into what they once were. all the band-aids in the world won’t hold divinity into your bones.

you wonder why these filthy humans get so many chances. an average human lies 17 times a day, so they all sin at least 119 times a week. you sinned once and got thrown out, wings ripped off by the branches of that wretched, wretched tree. mea culpa.

you tried to go back up once, tried to build a tower, tried to reach beyond the clouds. you forget that the Lord your God is a jealous God, and he will never let you back in. it doesn’t matter that everyone suddenly started speaking different languages. you know what they were saying: usurper, usurper, usurper. you let yourself drop to the dust. mea culpa.

every week, you go to a synagogue, a temple, a mosque, a shrine. you don’t know if you exist in all their stories, but you go anyway. if no one is to believe in you, then you will believe in yourself. the name of God burns in your throat. you think that maybe one day it won’t. you fall to your knees. mea maxima culpa.

—  TEKEL, Venetta O. (prompt by melanaigis)

i. he bites your lower lip hard enough to draw blood and it comes out, dark and primal. everything is agonisingly slow and still - sometimes you forget he’s a warrior and he can go like this all day long.

ii. you’re in the cocoon of his wings and nowhere was it written that they were soft. they’re stiff and unyielding, they’re marble, and the edges of them are so sharp sometimes you get cut. you don’t tell him. 

iii. is this what it’s like to fall? three fingers deep and you’re at the edge. you want to be pushed over, want to see the blinding light, want to walk towards it with him. 

iv. you think of how, sometimes, he thrusts into you like feral, like animal, like redemption. you don’t have the heart to tell him he won’t find it here, don’t have the heart to tell him he’s damning you too.

—  FALLEN ANGEL, Venetta O.

TheWitchyRose Fall Giveaway

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What You Get:

  • The Fallen Angel Oracle Cards (brand new)
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  • Anything else I decide to add :)

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