I walk in the shadows of suffering
as night lurks in the gutters.
My angel wings taint me, blood spilling
from the crack in my backbone,
the hurt like a harsh slit across my heart,
my wings useless and matted,
I can feel something invisible dying inside me,
sin is tireless as the sun setting
on the city's edge, a brightness burning
far away is a sunset or an angel
with wings tainted, flapping futilely
chained to the Earth by torment
rendered eternal in the dim light of sunset.
I am stroking my pain and useless wings,
marking placid time with a cigarette,
the ancient light a bottomless pit
with shadows rising from the gutters
opening like a wound across the sky.
