Some poetry to chew on...
For every uncountable time
I make my mother cry,
I kill a score of angels,
Floating in the sky.
They no longer pray,
Dance laugh or sing.
Instead, they freeze,
Their white feathers out of wing.
But little does she know,
That when she makes me cry
She doesn't kill a spirit.
Nothing within me can die.
Instead, spirits are born,
And rise inside my head.
Rather a legion of demons,
Are resurrected instead.
I make my mother cry,
I kill a score of angels,
Floating in the sky.
They no longer pray,
Dance laugh or sing.
Instead, they freeze,
Their white feathers out of wing.
But little does she know,
That when she makes me cry
She doesn't kill a spirit.
Nothing within me can die.
Instead, spirits are born,
And rise inside my head.
Rather a legion of demons,
Are resurrected instead.