Tattered Angel

She was the angel, fallen from grace
And as she sat, leaving blood-stains on the sofa,
She screamed desperately at her conscience,
"Give me some fucking space".
She laughed bitterly,
as she raised the bottle to her lips,
Flirted shamelessly with the shattered mirror,
as she provocatively swayed her hips.
He stood behind her, un-noticed,
Til she whimpered;
"Get your hands off me".
Stepped back, seemingly burned,
But then his eyes flashed,
His grip left rivers of scarlet,
Strangled cries escaped her lips,
"You bitch", he spat, "You whore,
you harlot".
Finished, he threw her carelessly,
her wings naught but tatters.
Eyes downcast, he lifted her chin,
"I'm sorry".
"It's okay", she sobbed,
"It doesn't matter".