Site icon Angie's Diary

Below Zero

Curtains moved from

forced air; staring at the window
she knew, she needed angel wings.

A television blasted
through empty walls: feet, cold,
skin breaking, stockings lost;
what belonged
had disappeared.

His fingers long and slender – his eyes
hurt, knowing she was watching, and
his body jerked as he walked.

Cold feet on a strangers bed –
She is an angel yet no one taught her
to fly, so she remained still, never
moved – closing her eyes she fell
off to sleep.

Someone told her he would lock doors
and take everything she needed to fly,
he was a madman, and there on a bed
lay a lifeless angel.

There was no way out – no walking,
no screaming – no strength to toss a
chair to break glass – so high from the
ground, and her wings never grew.
She prayed, let them sprout. . .

Everyone seemed polite, and the angel
trusted all, believing life is good.

It was something in his voice,
she told us, and his smile turned
his body to stone; a sick man, but
no one warned her about his change
in personality.

She explained, “Even if my angel wings
had grown – I had no way to know
the way home.  The air, below zero.

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