Trash Bag Angels

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Long dead gods
Cold puddles of blood
Angels with wings of cold steel 
Eyes like daggers 
Prayers sent to an empty heaven 
Hands folded in reverence
To an absent father 
Broken glass dreams litter the alleyways
Wrists slashed 
Bound by black trash bags
And reeking of words left unsaid
We drink ourselves
Into puddles
Vile liquid 
Snaking its way through an empty vessel 
Brass knuckles of uncommitted sins
Lust blinding eyes of lovers 
Unable to look at this
The world we’re in 
A hot fiery hell already beginning its consumption
Of all those who choose to remain
All of our lives
Meaningless and pained
Struggling to drag on 
Into lives, we were told to live
What can we do
Demons running the streets 
Hungrily consuming 
All in their paths 
Closets now filled with more hung bodies than clothes 
Sadness emanating off the rotting flesh 
Of warm bodies
Everyone desperate to make something of themselves

When in the end it all means nothing 

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