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Parking Lot of 7-Eleven

By
Twinkie in hand
I look out the window
Opaque with filth and neglect
Onto the parking lot of 7-Eleven
On the asphalt stands
The would-be angels
Their faces forced into the illusion
Of a smile
Azrael embodied
Forming the scythe
That for them comes too early
Angels abandoned by heaven
They turn away from the light
Rejected
They turn as the dark embraces them
The angels become demons
As smoke curls from their nostrils
In the parking lot of 7-Eleven





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