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the tattered winds,
the running blood.
this picture standing cannot be
the way i really feel inside,
but it is true and it is deep.
the terror anger and misery
hidden in that angel's eyes
as it slowly is torn apart
inside as if its entire life's meaning
was a slim piece of paper.
an opposite sat across from her
looking down at nothing
almost unsurviving
a shadow cast over its eyes.
this cannot be how i feel about the world
this is not how i act in front of people.
not this, depressed and angry frustration.
bottled inside
waiting
waiting
for someone to break it.