Where Wings Become Weapons (The Postmortem)

She treads upon a heart of glass.
 That lies beating for hours.
 Until it shatters.
 Taking my eyes to understand why she will not die.
 As if she was granted this day with angels wings.
 One more sentiment left unknown.
 I can see all of her infamy.
 Through that lace in black.
 Cried and silent.
 Without a word.
 Without a whisper.
 Without a voice.
 She loathes in silence for Another days rein.
 Its in your blood forever she said.
 The line between man and machine should have never been crossed.
 Leaving behind a shadow of countless gazers.
 Waiting to catch a glimpse of hell.
 Next time we meet.
 I will find you blindfolded.
 She becomes silent.
 To understand why she will not die.
 Now we become distant.
 Her blood is no longer mine.
 As if she was granted this day with weapon wings.
 Your bleeding eyes. This poison tongue. This sharpened feather.
 The key to heal my yesteryear.
 as She will be my ending.
 Each passing year.