Two poems, two aspects

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17/7/16

The stricken Angel calls

crying its howl,

screaming its soul

into the wind. 

A shrill tortuous sound,

nails on a blackboard,

Teeth on edge. 

Grinding

And me...

listening, 

soaking it in.

Soaking in it.

Drowned.

 

---------

 

You sit alone,

pale, cold translucent skin

naked and luminous.

You are trying

to shield your body

from the;

elements,

the wind,

the eyes,

the taunts,

yourself.

You can not escape 

yourself. 

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