Who We’re Meant To Be

If the wings of an angel

Could span the spaces between

Blending me onto the pages

Like a song stuck in my teeth

A painting still drying

While the image continually changed

Slowly faded and dying

As the will becomes aged

My fingers grasp at it

As it slips through my hands

A phantom criminal committing

The crimes revealing who I am

I shake off the feelings

As tears rolls off my cheek

Emotions on repeat

Reserved for the meek

Part of me is missing

Part of me has already died

While I’m off reminiscing

The angels gather to cry