Take my wings and burn them down.
and when you grind the ashes to powder,
Throw them into the darkest ocean.
Let the waves stir them away.
Do the same with my heart.
Worms of solitude ate it to decay.
Don't you fear the space it'll leave.
My chest is already hollow inside.
Take the wings and burn them down.
In the ocean they will shine.
Stir the ashes stir and stir
Stir till there is me no more
Can you hear the sounds I hear?
Whispers of the demons exalting.
Whispers of more angels mourning.
Weeping a heart turned to dust.
Lamenting a soul turned to rust.
Take my wings and burn them down.
Let the ravens be at rest
Let the owls build their nests.
Let them celebrate the death,
Of an angel's heart of an angel's soul
Take my wings and burn them down.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
Ashes of the sentiments of her core
fall through the black hole
& for protection she goes to close the door
which falls through the hole
freedom, she cannot afford paying for
gravity pulls her to the hole
when it's time to heal it hurts more
she tries not to fall in the hole
......................
Dark signs are drawn on the urn of her soul
alone she holds the secret of her downfall
the dark eyes of her misrepresent her intentions
the shaking and breaking she never mentions
...............
Ashes of the sentiments of her core
fall through the black hole
& for protection she goes to close the door
which falls through the hole
freedom, she cannot afford paying for
gravity pulls her to the hole
when it's time to heal it hurts more
she tries not to fall in the hole
........................
Thirsty to death, she went to the water well
whilst saving herself, unfortunately she fell
that was the story of her dark lashes & eyes
it is tragic that she dies and they rise..
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 1:16 PM UTC
When scars are met with deeper wounds.
Crimson lava pours off her head.
What hurts the most is the same that mends.
her guilt was the tears she once shed.
The saviour owns the whips,
he adds to her body more scorges,
and with his sweet lips,
platonic innocent love he forges.
Courageously, she challenges the sun.
With her eyes she enslaves nature.
Sometimes it's bright, others it's dun,
especially on her departure.
Her life is a forest that always rains,
not close to a neoclassical garden.
In her absence nothing remains,
for she is one of a kind maiden.
When scars are met with deeper wounds.
Crimson lava pours off her head.
What hurts the most is the same that mends.
Her guilt was the tears she once shed.
The saviour owns the whips,
he adds to her body more scorges,
and with his sweet lips,
platonic innocent love he forges.
Mar 12, 2015
Mar 12, 2015 at 1:14 PM UTC