Falling Angels

There are cages, made with fire, Cages that suffocate, choke with ashes, Cages that aren't meant to be rattled, That are meant to remain untouched, Large distances between the caged and the bars. And then there are those who bridge the gaps, There are those who play with fire, They tease it, they taunt it, they make advances, They challenge it, charting their own paths. But cages of fire can't be rattled without leaving scars, The players don't leave unscathed, Some times its a stinging burn, Other times, all that's left is raw skin. But when angels play with fire, Its a transformation, like magic.


Myrtle Cay – Maybe (part 1)

Francis The darkness surrounding me is cold, cold and damp. My hands are sweaty, my palms clammy as I hold on - hold on for dear life. The earth underneath my fingers is hard, hard and scratchy and there is something sharp embedded deep into it and it cuts my hands, spilling blood. I can’t... Continue Reading →

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