You got caught in a chromatic scale
Like a moth tangled in a spider’s web
In early morning dew.
Demons arose like smoke in your eyes
They flailed and lunged for an escape.
And your eyes, you shut them.
Those scales hold beauty on the radio
And we don’t change the station.
But you’re not a singer,
And you’re not famous.
Without your wings you are nothing,
And there’s no choir to lift up your voice.
You’re just another fly engulfed by fangs.
Venom seeps into your veins
And your heart shuts down.
The music fades, but you keeping singing
And you’re off key.
Author notes
One of the only things I've written in a while. So I figured I'd stick it on here for you to see. 
It needs work, I know. But at least it's something. 
Any specific suggestions? Ideas for a better title?
Comments
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Genius (:
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Thank you dear!
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I would have elaborated, but I was using my brother's Blackberry and it's damn hard to type on that piece of crap.
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Haha. I can't stand those things. They're so annoying!
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