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
…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.