The Imprisoned Angels

Every electric fence tangled in barbed-wire,

Has been engulfed in blue flames, silver charring to rust,

There are no boundaries now, the dividing lines blurred like chalk-dust,

The limitation-marking paint has flaked away.


But these cuts on my wrists still control my mind,

If I let them heal, all possibility of ever becoming human again

Is lost to the endless tunnel of darkness in my ruined dreams.

As the scars close, this prison-cell locks itself,  I die alone in unresponsive numbness.


Jolted back into reality, an electric shock,

The fences, lines and boundaries imprison me once again.

Hell rains down blood, the angels fall into this pattern of self-destruction,

Will they ever be fixed? Shattered halos, wings snapped under webs of glue,

Loathing their splintered, stone reflections,

Nothing but a mannequin to model markings of abuse.




The End

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