An Atrophy of Angels (Angle of Eternity)

I am your eyes
lodged into an unwilling skull
tearing at the sides of time
waiting for freedom to come

To come, and pull black from white
and to stop this writhing

I am the sharp angles of the wall
where your forehead met
blood clinging after you'd moved on
and your heart broken, spattered on his chest

To drop free from the wire
stopping up the ears to avoid the scream

I am your fingers
dangling loose in violent repose
tingling for eternity
but lost on falling hopes

Author notes

Every fiber knows that it aches for something more, but somewhere along the line we've decided that what the world tells us is real is really all there is. Welcome, friend, to the atrophy of angels. Apathy is the favorite of the day, and tomorrow will probably never come.

Or so they say.