Wildthing and Angelstar

There is a girl with a wicked laugh and promises in her eyes, glitter sparkling on her face beneath the florescent lights. She dances in the darkness, embracing the shadows that hold so much comfort, but never able to fully give over to them again. The straps of her tank-top falling over her shoulders, a slink in her hips as she walks, there is a fire burning in her eyes. She hides her feelings beneath a cold exterior, because she is oh- so-cool and no one can touch her, no one can hurt her because she won't let them. With cyanide tears and a razorblade kiss, she's addicting, she's the trouble that no one can turn down, no one can seem to leave. A wildthing demonchic dancing on the edge because she has no where else to go.

And meanwhile there is a boy lying curled upon the ground, dirt beneath his nails as he digs his fingers into the cold, moist earth, searching for an escape. And as his lashes close over the crimson tears streaking down his cheeks, the moonlight casts a ray upon his shirtless form. Lying in a pool of his own blood, with pale white feathers sticking to his skin, fluttering down from the sky to encircle his body. And upon his shoulder blades two wounds have been ripped into his flesh, the remains from the wings that were torn from his back. He had been a beautybabe angelstar but now his face was contorted in a mask of despair. Muscles shuddering in the biting cold, his lips moving in a gentle prayer for life, for death, begging for forgiveness for whatever he might have done.

He was banned from Heaven, she was cast from Hell, and the stars stopped burning when they fell. The skies darkened and the skies wept, the earth mourning for the tragedy that had come.

And somehow they manage to find one another in the crowded city-that-never- sleeps, recognizing the pain in each other's eyes, the anguish and suffering that only they can see. He sees the stars that have been tattooed upon her temples, the crosses upon the back of her hands. He sees the smeared lipstick and the smudged eyeliner, the desperation that lies in her eyes, and he knows that every night she lies in bed with someone else, limbs twined and tears spilt, bruises cast upon her skin in hand-prints of ashen navy.

She sees the bracelets of scars that encircle his porcelain wrists, the words 'Pain', 'Hate', and 'Loss' slashed into his flesh. She can see the track lines branding his sinewy arms, evidence to the drugs that are coursing through his veins in an attempt to forget everything, an attempt to destroy the life that will never end. His charcoal hair falls over his forehead, dangling over his lashes and curling into dark wings. She can see the shame and the pleading in his eyes, an aching torment that is consuming him, eating him up inside.

And they lock eyes for a moment that lasts forever, whispers and promises exchanged in a single glance, spoken in a silence that both understand. And they know that together they might be something, together they won't be so broken anymore. They won't be crying and dying, they could be laughing and living. They could heal their broken hearts, they could glue together their shattered souls. They could twine fingers and exchange butterfly kisses, finding a new hope in a decaying world of cruelty, so unforgiving. They could make the Earth their home, roaming the streets with a passion and a lust for life that outshines everything else. They could be their own strength in this harsh and cold reality, halting the downward spiral that they have become trapped in.

Because only a fallen angel could forgive her suffering, as only a demon could love his tainted purity.

They could save themselves by saving each other.

But she drops her gaze and looks down at her hands, and in the same moment he turns his back to walk away. Her lips crash against those of the stranger beside her, and his fingers brush against the sharp needle in his pocket.

There is no such thing as happily-ever-after.