Angels don't have the equipment to care
They just ruin whichever life they choose
Earth, it's just a giant chessboard to them
They are the white, we're the black, I lose
If you're chosen, say goodbye to your life
Don't ask why, you have to play your part
And it seems like whenever angels change
And try to care, it just...breaks them apart.
YOU ARE READING
To My Wayward Sons (Supernatural Poetry)
PoesíaSupernatural poems that I write when all the: -massive emotional damage -overwhelming crack -severe obsession -rare inspiration -demon possessing me is too much to handle. 50% feels, 50% crack, 100% trash. Abandon all hope, ye who enter here! ××× ...
