sweeT

Things had no purpose. There was no time. The mischievous angel with the smallest wings flapped around as it struck each heart with its poisoned arrow. Shooting to kill. Shooting to survive.

It had.

It survived and the hearts poisoned try to breathe without spreading the vile blood it is beating to the brain that leads to thoughts. Thoughts that lead to sin and to death. The little angel gathered clouds around and hid with the most morbid of delights. It poised to shoot.

Shoot to kill. Death by love.

The angel giggled, turned and twisted, arrows, red as the sunset, flew overhead and screams can be heard once again. They were not of pain, they were not of anguish. The angel of death cowered at the hearts floating down, tearing at him until only his hisses and curses resounded in the deep night.

Deep, deep...

Each heart trembled deeply at the sight of one being. One being altered in their perspective, one being dreamt. Each eye sought after one view, one view of smiles and laughter and looks that smoldered. Each ear anticipated voices of silver bells, tinkling and ringing on the high silver hills of life.

The job is done.

The angel of mischief, pretty, with its eyes so blue and hair so curly blonde, disappeared with a cloud of white smoke, and waited yet again until things had no purpose and there was no time yet again.

Eyes, blinded. Ears, deafened. Hearts bled. Hearts pumped. Chocolates and candies. Flowers. Twos not threes. Girls and boys. Trucks and dolls.

They were as they seemed and they were what they were. They mangled and tangled. Glass shattered, pots broken. The season remained the same and will forever be. The months moved on.

Roses and roses and roses.

Walkways littered with petals.

Sweet and chocolate filled boxes.

Cards and cards of fluff.

RED.