Sta.sh
He was dancing gently across the sky.
Toes tripping gracefully on the clouds of nativity.
Tilting turning, never ending, never failing, soft white, smoke falling behind in long lingering streaks cutting the azure sky.
Cutting the flesh, through his throat, gushing blood past tainted lips, and dripping in crimson rivers down his neck, shoulders and chest, quickly killing off this purity.
... Yet all is serene.
Moving the only one to love me to suicidal behavior, in the down to earth approach of a broken hearted angel.
But irony will take it's place.
The rotting corpse will thrive, reborn again.
For we all will move on to the bigger better now.
And all will be calm again.
Leaving this crazy game of war, only to be repeated once more.
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