Four steps on a floor of bees.
Glass of helmet carried to the front of my door. And nails pinning me to the floor.

Held on to my angels, but they betrayed.
Pinned their wings on the fridge, and walked away.

Slipped my hands in my hair, slowly like i am my own, used the clean side of my fork and glanced it all over my all.

Laid down on my bathroom floor, with the sink running and the water over floating, Bleeding on my face washing my tears away.
© Blue walls