In certain points of the night,
she struggles to sleep.
Into the Angel's face, she trusted.She still feels the poison in her veils.
reminiscence of her past still carriesthe same violent sting.Reminding her she can't run from it,no matter how she tries to hide from it.
“Don’t worry,” she was told.She's on her way, she has to go.
Wildly she keeps trusting, going.although she was burning, what felt likeInside and out...silenced, blinded, and alone.
I am standing bare.I am sick of my self-soothing soul.
So many questions,rushing through my head.
- Written on July 12, 2018
About the Creator
Cassiie Etienne
28 years old. I have been writing for as long as I could remember. For some reason writing was the only way I could express myself when I was younger and it still is one of the best ways I express myself.
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