Angels in late night parking lots,
In rundown apartments with broken windows and scattered pieces of furniture.
Angels with clipped wings collecting feathers,
Taking them home and keeping them safe from harm until they’re carefully assembled into a pair of makeshift wings.
Young angels with eyes wide with wonder and mouths open in gleeful surprise,
Always reaching out of windows and staring down birds, longing for wings that should have been theirs.
Fallen angels with anger and regret draped like a cape over their shoulders,
Getting into fights with the locals for abusing too proudly, stalking local support groups with hard eyes and eyes burning with something when a cynical mother finally breaks down.
Angels who fought in the war, no longer able to stomach the sound of metal on metal.
Warriors with flashbacks while doing mundane tasks, suddenly back in that burning, screaming, bloody field where it all went down.
Guardian angels who gently guide others from tragedy with kind words and encouraging smiles,
Crying in the shower when they can’t help.
Angels without empathy who try so hard to help but get exhausted so easily, always having to untangle social cues.
Cosmic angels with black holes for pupils and cosmic smiles, burning so brightly you can’t help but notice their presence.
Angels of death, collecting bones on the roadside and burying dead crows,
Mourning with sorrow so tangible it collapses in on itself over and over again.