The Flesh of Fallen Angels

Sometimes at night, if I clear my mind, and make my intentions clear... I can see past the veil of reality that's wrapped around us like a smothering blanket. I see past the interwoven fibers of time and space, past the emotions and feelings. I try to touch it, but it swirls and turns to steam just before blowing away completely. Like everything else in my life, I can always look, but I can never get close enough to touch. Sometimes I think if I had just waited a second longer, I could have reached my fingers into those fibers, and ripped them apart. I could unwrite the past to destroy the present, and in essence go back in time, and hope that maybe - maybe a second time would change it all. Maybe the frayed ends would rejoin into something beautiful instead of this hideous mess that has come of my life. I could wrap myself up in the flesh of fallen angels, and in the guise of a beautiful angel I could rip apart all that is without it disappearing. I have tasted the end of the world, and I have seen the coming of the end. Like cannibals at a massacre it stops mattering which meat belong to which side, and we eat the flesh of our own. We tear apart all that is our world, and take everything we can to hold off the tide of demons that will invade our plane. Only those who can empower themselves with the very essence of those demons will be able to make a stand. Only by eating of the flesh of fallen angels have I been able to keep from being consumed by the hounds of hell.