My back has two scars
where my wings used to be
their phantom haunts me
mostly in the mornings
and right before I sleep

Their shadow is like a faint touch
by a gentle yet distant lover
reminding me
of my past glory
to distract me
from my present gore

Some warn you about tattoos
and how they stay forever
how you may regret them
but no one mentions scars
beware of scars
and how you get them

Some days when I wake up
from a scarless dream
in the first moments of awakening
it feels like my wings are still there
fluttering with pride
ready to carry me seven skies above

Time heals
we are told
I wish healing was perfect
I wish it was like erasing
I wish it left no residue
or memory
or scars

I may miss my wings
but I don’t miss myself when I had them
it’s ironic
I used to be a waste of wings
and right when I was starting to be worthy
they were plucked
and I was pushed off the clouds

I shouldn’t be writing about my wings
they didn’t define me
I should be writing about you instead
after all
you were the reason I lost my wings
and my reason
and almost my head

But then I lost you
and myself
and everything I thought I believed in

Damn you.


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