Part your lips, inhale the smoke into your lungs.
Close your eyes and feel it’s oxygen both burn and refresh inside your chest.
Don’t mind the blood that stains your fingertips, all meals are messy.
Your wounds are no longer on your mind, or mine.
Do you have the strength to walk once more, my puppet?
You have not forgotten your mission, you never let me forget.
How do I feel about all of this?
Should I feel guilt?
Would I stay at your side to the end?
Or cut these strings and leave you?
I do not have the answer for you, my puppet.
Until then, breath in this tainted air that I cannot.
Savor the blood from your fingertips with your holy tongue.
Feel how your injuries trouble your body no further.
Enjoy these sensations, my archangel, my mistake…