feeling the sting of his nighttime endeavour
he paints on his wings, feather by feather
they glisten with colour, a lustrous red
he wanted to fly but it's all in his head
YOU ARE READING
dark poems
Poésiethis seems like poetry and prose sometimes it's more than you'd suppose see, what my mind creates, goes but what that is, nobody knows
broken angel
feeling the sting of his nighttime endeavour
he paints on his wings, feather by feather
they glisten with colour, a lustrous red
he wanted to fly but it's all in his head
