killed by an angel.

When you write His name, you do so with a capital H, because to you, He may as well be God.

So you worship Him like He is God, and let Him fill your room with His light, escaping darkness every minute.

With eyes that stare into your soul, He makes you vomit your secrets over His lap, drunken with ardour.

You can't pull your face away whenever He leans in to whisper, as if hypnotized by His voice.

You would swear you saw Heaven laid out in the back of His teeth, and you are begging for death.

At home, you pray on your knees for another vision, angelic encounter, just a taste of that ethereal aura.

You count down the days, weeks, 'til you can torture yourself again merely by being in His presence.

Oh, you wish you could possess the angel, all for yourself, only in your heart, like nobody else should believe He exists.

Divine love that strikes your heart. You bleed out, killed by an angel, pouring all over the pavement.

One day His mouth is going to kill you. He will disappear, no trace left behind, and you will call that an act of love.