My Writer's Journal - Down

Her wings once shown brighter than the sun

now they fall, weak, wilted, and grey

a grey that can only be matched by her sky

a cold and wet grey filling her entire universe

It smashes down, suffocating her

so, she may never claw her way back out

Each visitor she invites into her self-made cell

only brings her lowers as they use her to rise

Their wings, dark as lead, serve as warnings

Why does she continue to let them in?

Does she believe she can purify them?

Now she has invited the worse one of all

His wings, only painted gold, are dull and molting

She says, “He reminds me of the sun.”

But with each passing day he grows darker

He brings her promises and expensive things

Then leaves her broken and more empty than before

Yet, each time he leaves you, I’m left to pick up the pieces.

You crawl back every time

Almost begging for him to use you again

You tell me, “He’s different.”

I say, “Why, because that’s what he told you?”

But it doesn’t matter

To you, his gold is heavier than lead

And the grip of the devil

Burns worse than the sun

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