✧ your not so average fallen archangel warhorse (una)living through purgatory here on earth ✧ finding a home in that space between asleep and awake ✧

Neightmare

horpse [noun] the corpse of a horse girl

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SMELLS OF... aged parchment paper, wet soil, faint metal, hay

shooting stars are fallen angels. that's why we've been taught to cast wishes unto them... idealizing... praying that fulfilling our hearts' desire is something worthy of a dying angel's final act of service. closing our eyes tight with hope as gilded, virtuous bodies spiral down from nirvana; tearing holes through ozone in flailing tantrums of stardust. heaven burns alive in front of our eyes and we call it beautiful from across the bay. isn't that disgustingly human natured... asking GOD for a sign yet looking right past it in favor of our own interpretation. mistaking the canvas by misunderstanding the painter. finding ephemeral beauty in chaos... not purpose, but vapid entertainment... arbitrary distraction from secular means. masking until the next crisis hits. only then are we are faced with our own mortality once again. reminded of what little we truly control. absent mindedness inherently leads to self destruction. don't you know the spark inside of you is meant to light a brighter flame? connect you to something bigger? someone greater? according to the six bases of social power, humans recognize one another's fundamental potential to influence authority through different categories. "legitimate power" derives from a formal title, role, or position in a hierarchy... obedience out of respect. heavenly prowess tethers to proximity of GOD's power. does this make an angel a glorified conduit? what separates angels from demons? does it boil down to allegiance and actions... or is it something deeper? who are you outside of the environment you cage yourself within? what are you beyond the responsibilities you burden? for better or worse, you are a mosaic of every little thing you've ever strived to remember or struggled to forget. do you ever wonder what your soul looks like outside of those experiences? aside from the pain. maybe even beside it, coexisting with it, peacefully. and so it seems... holding out for fallen angels — wishing upon falling stars — is a bit like betting on losing dogs, isn't it? does that change anything? will you still wish? sink dreams into the deep sea of spiritual unknown?