Angels attack

a short story from my mind.

The angels are upon us;
And they will grind our bones to make their
cocaine.
The screams tear out through the walls of distopia,
The minus five degrees lays dead upon the floor of his apartment,
blood spilling out from where
the angels ate out his eyes, and were still bowing over his body,
cruel saliva cloyed from their mouths mixed maroon with his blood...

They have seen you now. Run.
They have your smell on their noses, their hollow pits of eyes will find you eventually...
The angels will eat out your eyes;
And then you'll see.
You are nothing to them,
Or Him,
Or me.