366 Poems: July 19th, 2016

Angel

Angels wear headphones

and listen to metal.

Angels wear jackets

and jeans that are black.

Angels play trombones

and computer graphics.

Angels give all

and expect nothing back.

Of all of these angels,

I’ve only met one:

a virus infecting

each word that I write,

and they may say dark angels

must be the fallen,

but their words mean nothing:

my angel’s alright.

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