Something Besides Fashion

Creating angels with no intention
Of ever giving wings
Taking chances
Making advances
With no hard feelings

I have put you upon this pedestal
And watched it decay.
With nothing graceful left inside you
Your fragile wings do fray

Falling swiftly –
The clouds are wisping
Round your wretched head

I warned you
When I tacitly placed you softly
As my heart’s monument.
That this would be a terrifying
Place with of never-ending dying
Yet still on you went.

Here razorblades
Are accolades
Of triumph over death.

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