Make Me An Angel

We talked of angels most nights. We glanced
at the stars and wondered if they were listening -
maybe laughing because we were wrong, or shocked
because we were right;

“You’re one of them still looking for your wings,” you whispered,
before taking my tongue and pulling innocence from it - the angels
watching me love you, and watching you only say
that you did.

The days ran like I wish I could have run from you;
your sweatshirt still sits on the very top shelf of my closet
to remind me of how the angels
were silent, how they left me cold on the bathroom floor
with phone in one hand and hope in the other.

I was a girl who craved pain and salvation
with every corner of her heart; but in the end, only one fate
came.