ANGELS {part 2 of 3}

Poor little babies dont have knowledge that the copper coins in the water don't fix fate. Poor little monsters, alone in the wild delayed from trembling with the weights of dust. This is what we have carved into the world into the sky; it is our reality. So please rip off my wings but stitch them back and hit the bone, because I want to keep wishing that i am missing and flying from the mirrors of my hollow head. Poor little babies and a world full of wrong people and what they call insanity. Hope is here so my darlings we are not monsters and we can soar through the polluted skies, just, dont, think you're gonna die and you won't go home. My little prettys, we are not creatures of such grime and hate; oh little monsters we are not ugly so have your reflection to tell you the words that won't peirce your glowing eyes.