feathery fall

--

Seeing him is
(like) becoming an angel.

I have wings on my back
(and) I can fly around.

Getting back the happiness is
(like) picking up the fallen feathers.

My wings are torn
(and) the pain is searing my heart.

Waiting for him is
(like) trying to see the star that rarely shoots.

My neck hurts
(and) my heart bleeds tears more than my eyes do.

Hoping for him to come again is
(like) facing daybreak and ridiculing darkness.

A little light warms my heart
(and) I (still) wish

I could become the angel I used to be.

--&

a/n : for the number Seven.