They put her on an iron pedestal
And poured bronze into her veins
But her ceramic wings crumbled
And her varnish chipped
Revealing pale skin white like the moon
White like a butterlie
White like her empty insides

And she decided that she didn't
Want to be an angel anymore
But she was too short, too small
And the pedestal too high off the ground
Too far away from reality
Real cities

For her to leave