Ode To The Angels. [ Feedback & Comments? ]

[CrispyChickenStrips]

We make our wings out of our broken bones. Halos out of peeling skin and bloody noses. We set fire to our bodies praying that the hand prints of strangers on our hips would disappear. Living every day tasting the blood from our busted lips and shredded tongues. We were silenced in the fear of the demons who ripped off our original wings. We no longer knew what innocence felt like. Because the scars of their claws reminds us of the day we fell from heaven.



Probably wasn't the best title for this poem...

[Inactive Tortoise]

The language used in the poem as a whole isn't particularly interesting. Words and phrases seen here are so easily associated with cliché, nothing very different is being accomplished here. I'd take a different approach because this dark angle is shrouded in excess.