Fallen angel, hath no wings,
But scars and tattered bones.
Fallen angel, hath no name,
But speaks her subtle moans.

Fallen angel, bruises mark
The ropes that go untied.
Purgatory surgery,
Tired, bloodshot eyes.

Fallen angel hath not energy,
But cradles me to sleep.
Wishing I could only comfort you,
You ask nothing of me.

Awoken from a slumber,
Refreshed, to know it's true.
Groggy eyes with dried up teardrops,
No more wondrous pursuit.

Tin foil, onto cardboard,
And a frame of memory.
A mirror made for beauty,
Combine both destinies.

Fallen angel, looks like me--
A future scorched with ash.
Much like an old enamored memory,
Through a dusty photograph.

Torn and moldy, cracked and creased,
Older days, encased.
Days when wings had just begun to wilt,
Small bruises 'round your face.

I prayed so much before you came,
But now I benefit.
An angel, smoking with resemblance,
Torched angelic wrists.

I prayed - an angel come to save me,
But this will most suffice.
A less-perfect one, to crumble with,
A sieve to prolonged nights.

Conversing with my future
About how my hands were slashed.
I am the past, but present form of you,
Can nothing save this angel’s past?

A soul I must confide in,
Two lives’ essences destroyed.
The future shows my scars impurities,
How that feeling fills my void.

Fallen angel, next to me,
Like a born duet, we cry.
You, for knowing you could have done something,
And I for knowing I won't try.
 
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