Wings shimmering in the moonlight,
Superlunary in appearance but all too average in actuality.
The sparkling visage of an angel, deceitful.
Blood trickling through the cracks of the floor, the source hidden.
You can't lose your perceived innocence, if they see you any other way your not so angelic.
To be seen as devilish is like death to you.
No longer would your wings glimmer, no longer would you be as otherwordly,
But sharp tounged and fiery, and burning with rage.

Tommorow is today, and today is yesterday.
The hope filled future is now the hopeless present you cried about years ago.
The hopeless present is now a repressed memory.
The once young child you saw in the mirror is now wrinkled, worn out.
The wrinkled worn out adult you once saw in the mirror is now rotting.
You lived as you died, because you never truly lived.