4/22
sweet and pure, soft and white.
I used to fly, away away,
I once had wings, made of light.
But now they're gone,
bloody and torn.
My wings I loved,
with which I was born.
I'm now exposed,
alone and guilty.
My innocence gone,
now I'm dark, pained, filthy.
No more white,
no longer pure.
No wings of light,
no longer sure.
