There is beauty in what I do not love. These objects injected so far into my skin that the magic that flows through me is mine.

Something I have claimed and stripped of its innocence. Its searing sweat and bubbling tears. Red lips of ruby and blood shot hooded eyes. 

I have stole it and had it adminstered far into my skin. Wrapping its body close to mine suffocating it with my own sorrow.

So, I will apologise to the wings that protrude from my battered spine. Pat the glimmering skin as if it was my child with care and love. Push my calloused fingers through the eyes covering my face.

Blinding it from ever facing what I have had to endure.