White wings, pale skin.
Those that lose can still win.
By night, we fly.
An angel always soars high.
Cracked lips, closed eyes.
Wishing for the sunlight.
wish luck, with heavy hearts.
You know what the odds are.
"Angels, don't die."
You whisper to the sheets at night.
So pure. So poor.
She smiles although she has no more.
You can tell that she's an angel.
She doesn't need a halo.
But though she's pure and innocent,
Her world is old and hard.
An angel can fly tonight.
But this angel will die.
__________
Yes, I listened to The A Team. 73 times. Thats when I lost count. But I wrote this about my little sister. She's... Well... Anyway. We were poor at that time and stuff happened. Now I'm pouring my heart out to a stranger. Yay.
YOU ARE READING
Poison, by any other name is just as deadly: Poetry
PoesiaDark poems about death and sadness. I write them to get anger out of my system do I can live more happily. I post em so you can get all depressed.
