On the market

Everything hurts

Then nothing at all

Transient angels

Tell me what to do

Promising no conditions


I know the numbers

Off by heart

Of all the dealers

Of all the blows

But angels seem like ghosts


When promises walk through walls

I call the numbers

And make the deal

With anyone

Who’ll pretend to be my god

To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.