Fall Angel, fall

Hands become talons
Teeth, fangs
and grins, disdain.
Clawing at the angels
repulsed by their purity
jealous of their flight.
Strangle them
make them cold
a scratch to scar their perfection.
Accursed angels
superiour in their vantage
and in their 'morals'
and fortune.
Tear off the wings
pluck out their eyes
and watch them crawl.
Kill the higher guardians
to quench inferiority
of the accursed majority.
And thus they die.
Such is the fallen's plans
They mix with the dark.
And are an entertaining soap-opera for the mad.