As I choke on the truths of a thousand dead,
my head transfers the plastic,
that has held my heart together,
the feelings were meant to be collected,
but were, in truth, dispersed in the wake of my pain,
the tragedy that has become my future,
is the closest thing to perfection.
As I choke on the truths of a thousand dead,
I am held by my angels wings,
saved by the same hands that have killed men,
centuries before the dawn of my forefathers,
and the same that have sinned all of the sins of man,
but have not ever answered for the retribution.
 
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