Putrid Arcangels

Angels of infatuation. The perfection of affection. Selecting contaminated companions, dashing for a pairing. The cleansed present an offering of gratitude. A proposal in relation. The winged beauties drill into the soil. A partner of the air is of no appeal to them. After a resurfacing, the wings are sewn with filth. These worms of their preference, attract the refinement with their roots. Though their roots do not sprout plantations. These roots originate an unnatural regurgitation. The wind inhalers roam alone, passing on the poisoned spirits. Oblivious, the angels are, they fail to notice. A failure though their glow is jaded and worn. The wings lose their feathers in a daily routine. Sacrificing the ability to fly, a tragic mistake. Heartful illness is rotting their emotions rendering them blank. No longer angels, merely worms. Feeders of the soil, addicts of the mud.