a new story

I'd hung up my wings

and denied all food and sustenance

for days.

I'd been lost in the ecstasy

of writing the world a new story.

When it was finished,

I was filled with joy.

It truly was the best

I'd ever written.

I gave it o them, smiling,

for them to read

and enjoy.


excited anticipation

turned too quickly

to shock,


and disgust.

(Their eyes searing

over the 'perverted manuscript.)

I took it back and burnt it,

but I could still hear

their shouts and gasps

from somewhere quiet

within the flames.

The next day,

I joined them for dinner.

The awkward silences


became the usual chatter.

I put my wings back on

and ate.

But I'd never write about girls again.