Roots into soft soil thread,

Far above them tower the branches,
Sprouting thousands of unique leaves,

Each perfect in its own imperfection.
Every part necessary to create a beautiful sapling.
Jagged streaks of red and black,
Shrouding spheres of hazel fire;
Soft pink lips,
Masked by dark purple lipstick;
Long pale limbs,
Cloaked by dark laces and metals.
The Angel peers from behind her disguise,
Hiding from the dark world of anger and lies.

A mere shadow in a universe of light,

Forcing herself through one more pain-filled night.
Her tears fall into darkness,

Fading away with the dawn;
As she paints on her smile,

Takes a breath and swallows the bile.
On the outskirts she stands,

Weeping in discernibly, masking the futile rain,
As they try to wash her blood off their hands.