Wingless Angel

I open up the door of thought,
counting the kicks of regret,
as we both know the door is almost impossible
to close once opened.

I enter, in the search for nothing,
because nobody has changed,
and I have nothing to forgive
since I place the blame on myself.

This cellar of history will be the death of me;
a wingless angel inside a coffin of honesty,
where I can't feel anything anymore,
(since he broke me).

And I cannot help but wonder,
if I will smile once I'm dead.

Saffie
24

4/7/15