Mr. Not

An Angels Turning

Bone squeezing through flesh
And bloody feathers protruding,
From your perfect back

Your face held in an ugly grimace
As sweat and tears mix
Your perfect skin scraped and bruised

Your blood drips down in puddles beneath your form
As the tears in your flesh rips bigger than before
And your perfect body looks bloody and mended

Who would have thought
An angels turning
Would hurt so much