Disclaimer: Don't own them, they own me.
A/N: I'm not exactly satisfied with this piece, but since I rather like the concept, I decided to share anyway. Feedback is appreciated. Beta read by the awesome gothicdragon752. Angeal's POV.
So change your name, just keep your face. We're temporary anyway.
So lose your past. I'm sure you'll find it's in the way all the time.
Before you're through you're someone who looks a lot like you.
/AFI - I Am Trying Very Hard To Be Here/
In your appreciation of art, you taught me the means by which one can admire beauty, you taught me humbled awe and whispering adoration. And I admired, adored, worshipped...
In your quest for magnificence, you turned yourself in to the silver and the diamonds, first just the paint, white and red and black and like blood and death and fire. Then the leathers, the uniform of carnage, raw and wild like your essence, and yet so different, so primal.
More paint to follow, more facades to build, and I was content to watch from the backstage because I thought that I could still see you. Only... I'm not so sure now. Have you changed so much, or have you finally finished building your glittering cage without me noticing? When I see a glimpse of you, is that really you, or just another mask you perfected wearing, another decadent scene that perverts your memory?
In your love for perfection, you put on all the masks that they could offer, crimson of strength with feathers of charm, the golden blue of sophistication and loyalty, powerful green and consuming black. Even when you cried, it was rubies, tourmalines and tiger's eye. Before you entirely stopped crying, that is.
With perfection came arrogance, the throne you built on the stars and I thought that being there to catch you when you fall would be enough. I thought I could still see the real you. That the masks would come off, like a shedded cocoon of your fake self, and you could emerge anew, pure angel, raven of the forgotten gods.
Too late did I notice you have walled yourself in.
Too late did I realise that I lost you in that maze of your fortress against the world. That I am trapped outside and don't know how this happened, how I could breach those defences that hide you in a deadly illusion of power and beauty. The wonder of the work of art you have turned yourself into, splashes of color and grandeur that cover up the chipped surface, the cracks, the grey.
Glorious, ungodly talent that taunts with motion, dance macabre of the senses, veiled under the midnight sun like sins of flesh you committed with another, like pure angels in chains, burning in black fire.
And I can't help but wonder... even if you wanted to, could you still get out? And if you have broken your gilded shell, would there be any pieces of you left to pick up?