Oblivious angels raise their feathered wings
to free the forgotten from their prison of a mind.
Actions, past, I’ve been unkind,
just like the blind,
leading the blind.
I am unspoken,
spoken for,
spent like loose change,
fallen, forgotten on the ground.
My ear,
it heard the sound
of the Misfits Box
of lost and found.
A single strand of blonde
among a head of black.
Being coy is the bane of our existence.
