Blind Angel screams,
her fury untouched,
of the innocent rage,
for the halo
raped,
ripped
from the ribbons of a child.
The Voice,
shattered as a thousand mirrors,
broken as the heart
tormented by memory,
lives now as naughty
but whispers.
This Angel's twisted wings
drip gore upon a decade,
dusted and locked away,
were destroyed by the unwelcome,
the monsters in the closet,
under the bed,
monsters in the bed.
Death to the Innocence,
child ripped from the inside,
thrown to the floor;
an Angel, no more.
Comments
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Holy Shite, lassy!
Ripped from the inside resonates with me. We share a little. with much empathy, love Element 27 -
wow, you're talented sweety.
I hate monsters.
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...
Beautiful.. Sad..
Wow.
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