I've never proclaimed be an Angel
wearing the weighted wings
of the innocent sacrifice.
I've never claimed to be Diablo,
though pitch forks and red
are certainly my best colors.
I don't remember exclaiming truths
or swallowing serums, or vows of full
disclosure, especially the ones
I don't want to hear.
I proclaim love with a beggars sign
in the middle of the April desert
but someone chopped it down.
now, I proclaim noise,
turbulent, breathless
surrender to the voice
of the quiet night.
I remember promises of April.
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 10:18 PM UTC
I've never proclaimed be an Angel
wearing the weighted wings
of the innocent sacrifice.
I've never claimed to be Diablo,
though pitch forks and red
are certainly my best colors.
I don't remember exclaiming truths
or swallowing serums, or vows of full
disclosure, especially the ones
I don't want to hear.
I proclaim love with a beggars sign
in the middle of the April desert
but someone chopped it down.
now, I proclaim noise,
turbulent, breathless
surrender to the voice
of the quiet night.
I remember promises of April.
