Guardian

Since I started feeling like an angel

there were flowers in my bed.

Every morning at the same time

I took my wings and glued them on my back.

It's strange how the letter I wrote to you

flew into your hands so slowly.

 

Every morning I woke up scissors

under my pillow

Waiting me to cut my feather wings

I wasn't ready yet to do that

I was waiting for your answer to know

if you still needed my protection or not.

 

I waited and yelled on the skyscraper

I was sad it seemed like no one

whispered words for help these days

My guarded child had given up on me

just like I did with him when I was still alive

I missed drinking fresh orange juice on the balcony

smell of the newspaper didn't find my nose anymore.

 

In the morning I took the scissors and

found myself destroying every little feather

of my little wings

It was Sunday and there was no sun in the sky

And a fragile girl was lying dead on her bed