Angel Wings


Angel Wings
Curtains – moved from

forced air:  She
needed angel wings.
Told them, “A television
blasted through walls.”

Her feet,
cold, skin breaking,
lost; what belonged
to her disappeared.

His finger’s long and
slender, his eye’s
hurt, he walked and
his body jerked.

Cold feet on a
stranger’s bed –
One angel – never learned
to fly – she did not belong,
never moved –
pretending to
fall off to sleep.

He locked doors
tapped keys,
“A madman.” she said –
as her mind and body
lay lifeless.

No way out – no walking
no screaming –
no strength to toss a
chair to break glass
or wings to fly out of a
window – a window of
plate glass.

“Polite,” she told them,
“before he administered
drugs – to play games.”
Then the angel slept –
regained her trust – it
was all a dream.

“Something in his
smile,” she reported, “his
smile turned him
into stone – a sick mind,
no where to go.”

Even if her angel wing’s
had grown – those wings
could never see her home.

Her eye’s closed, her heart
pumps harder, knowing she
had days before her wing’s
would be repaired.

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Angie's Diary