there must be a thousand, maybe more,
angels, or demons,
or some twisted thing between
that take all the aching, the anger and curses, the moments in darkness that swim in sin and deceit,
that take the weight of forgiveness.
because all of that can’t just disappear.
so they all sit inside the word,
waiting for the next fuck up, ready to trade in exchange an almost perfect feeling,
a brand new feeling
with just a small scrape from the demons fang
with just a small part of the angel’s wing attached
fixed, back on the path