My my we are here again
Above the clouds, in the hevens
An angel, a blessed child
Many would describe me as such
But some know
Like you
Im not a true angel, dear
I simply have borowed wings
And then as i fall down
From all the weight on my shoulders
Ill close my eyes giving in
On the day these wings are taken back
But what should one expect
When they know
Im not a true angel, dear
I simply have borowed wings
Ornaments and jewls decorating corpses
Thats how useless these wings are
Cause no matter how white it is
Crimson blood would dye it red
But then again i expect you know
That im no longwr innocent
Im not a true angel, dear
I simply have borowed wings
YOU ARE READING
my book of dumb poetry
PoetryAt this point, I'm basically a STAR at making "quality" cheese. Some testers(?) are in the book you're about to read(if you're not saving it for later). And, no, most of these ideas are unoriginal and inspired by my friend's lives. I just realized h...
