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he said only angels have scars
im an angel with scars
he said they'll go away someday
but said they wont go far
they'll stay with you forever
all markings on your arms
reminding you forever
of who you really are

cuz only angels have scars
im an angel with scars
he said they'll go away someday
but said they wont go far
they'll stay with you forever
all markings on your heart
telling your secret fears
and tearing you apart
sheading all your tears

im an angel with scars
yeah an angel with scars
I know they'll go away someday
if I push the blades away
they wont stay with me forever
no markings on my arms
trying to tell me who I am
thank you Romeo for helping me through all of this
 Dec 2016 Ellie Sora
Mike Essig
on poetry*

A poem is only a mouthful of air
until it is read.
Imagine it. Craft it carefully
from your heart's flesh.
Seal it in a bottle
of clear, pure words.
Set it adrift on
the ocean of time,
life's restless surge,
until a few congruous spirits
pluck it from the sea-wrack
and recognize a message
that illuminates their souls.
Readers find writers;
never the opposite.
Crying inside, but i'll continue to hide,
my pain of the truth of someone being denied.
Falling apart, tis my own work of art,
and it can never end, because it never did start.

Sharing thoughts with a friend of mine,
his name is Gloom, he never stitches in time.
Wasting time, coz' i can never unwind,
his ugly demeanour is the mirror of mine.

Sister Mary never came to me,
so her words of wisdom she could never speak.
Still, unborn, she was born to die,
living a lie whilst she's in ' Paradise ' ?

Where do you go to when you're forever lost ?
Waiting at platforms for ghost trains to come.
Once you get on, you can never get off,
the birds nest is warm, but it's never enough.

And sister of mine, you were never alive,
but still i wish you were a friend of mine.
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