The angels in disguise,
Are slowly dying inside.
But they cover it up with lies,
And brush their hurt aside.
Because angels never cry,
And angels always smile.
Angels slowly die,
Because they don't feel worthwhile.
The angels in disguise,
They don't always hide well,
But they flaunt their "happy" eyes,
And we're to blind to tell.
The angels will leave,
And we'll ask who's at fault.
Would you believe,
That your words are like salt?
No ifs or buts,
Some people can forget it.
But we already have open cuts,
So it's not so easy to omit.
Say goodbye to their lovely grace,
And the beautiful light that shone.
Now they'll vanish without a trace,
And you'll be sorry that they're gone.
YOU ARE READING
Almost a poet
PoesíaI'm trying my luck at poetry so it'd be great to get some feedback. Keep in mind that these poems are strongly related to depression, anorexia, and things of that sort. If you are recovering, this story is not recommended for you.
