There\'s an old porcelain angel that sits on my bedside table, it\'s a reminder of the ones I\'ve loved, and the ones I\'ve lost.
That little angel has the most magestic wings, when I touch them I can feel the ripples as I slide my finger down.
She has star and moon holes at the bottom of her dress so light can get out, when you burn a candle.
Her face looks so innocent and pure, reminds me of myself, long ago.
Sometimes I wonder was I ever innocent, I felt so much pain at such a young age.
I long to have the soaring wings, the little angel has.
If I did would I have already fled, or would I be here instead?