Angel

A ghostly figure appears at your window.

She stood there, in the dead of night,

Moon casting a halo around her witch-black hair, 

Ripped blouse billowing in the wretched wind, 

A spectre at my window,

Silently.

She turned to me, a ghostly figure,

Jeans ripped by thorns that bloodied her cloudy skin,

Eyes wide and wistful,

White like milk, empty,

She stared at me,

Silently.

I shivered, scared of this heavenly creature who gazed unblinkingly at my overcast face,

And turned away,

But as if wings had sprouted from her fleshless shoulders,

She landed in front of me yet again,

Clumsy feet knocking into the ground,

Silently.

I cried for her to leave me be,

But she stared at me dolefully,

I begged for a reply,

Knowing her tongue had long since been torn from her throat,

Knowing that she would appear tomorrow, 

And forever,

Standing at my window,

Haunting me,

Silently.

Author's Note

Anything I could improve on?
Here's the link to the image: https://cdn.pixabay.com/photo/2017/08/06/22/01/building-2596807_960_720.jpg