Last night I dreamt about broken angels, falling from the sky
Their faces were the purest of perfections, all flaws included, the small scars left by a thousand lifetimes of being thrown away
That night they fell from the sky, for their wings were never really meant to fly
Or maybe they were and just never really worked right
The bad luck of a thousand beautiful creatures, all combined together in a rare rain of outsiders
Yes they were beautiful
But that doesn't matter when you're standing face to face with the devil
Cause he embraces every soul, with his long burning skinny arms, like he did with the angels, the kind of angel he once was before we all left him behind.
YOU ARE READING
Deadly - Poetry
Poetry/Feel free to kill me anytime. Isn't that what you were made for?/
