September feels like a twinge, a whisper in the wind.
Like a kiss stolen from a frown, and laced with a grin.
it’s been a week since i’ve cleaned my halo
and my vision is blurred like an oil slick.
I’m so grateful that I haven’t seen an angel,
for my wings are rusty with sin..
when love is only a susurration in the wind.
a memory and essence on the skin
Voices from the heavens, echoing how my heart longs to be condemned.
-and I think God mocks me for the way i’ve locked myself in
Iron on my tongue- my wings wilt,
while reaching for the sun..
and the autumn leaves fall, like feathers