OK, this poem is about a story I MIGHT write, so it might not make sense.
Descendant of the angels
Wings apon her back
Hidden in the crowd
Who's loyalty you lack
The last of her kind
The rest of them are dead
All of their white blood
Rest apon you head
Chained on the ground
Radiating rage
Filled with all the anger
Of the ones you caged
Opening her eyes
The white fills your with fear
She opens her mouth
This is what you hear
Feel my pain
Hear my cry
Know that now
The end is nigh
Okay, I know this is stupid, but tbh, I doubt any one is gonna read this anyway.
