Birth of saint Alex 

I can feel it’s weight in my handSolid and cold

I wasted every chance I’ve ever gotten

Fallen and alone

Raise my arm up, put it in position

This the end

Squeeze ………….

 

 

…Unfortunately, holding nothing

I’m still here

However The desire remains constant like a weight in my hand.

Why can’t I be perfect, must I be human?

Surely life must be better as an angel.

 

 

Should I not then aspire to be an angel?

Use this rage, hurt, and sadness to fuel a lamp guiding others out of darkness

Form wings from words and travel the world.