My imperfections are as apparent as my broken bones.
Hidden perfectly beneath an emotional exoskeleton. Built over many years from many fears and thunderous words.
Of course I’ll try to save you, and probably ruin you by trying. But try I will.
I get so ******* tired of hearing about love. We’re all just running around our own little bubbles, describing what we see inside, not caring what’s outside.
So before you cast my words into the abyss with all the other noets, just remember.
Fallen Angels have wings too,
They’re just damaged from the fall.