The switches flick on sending pulses of light and the start of whirring machines. Printing and printing it goes, the detective smirks, calling it in.
I pine for pine, of spruce, blue and fragrant. Add a little white, red, some bells, and a star atop, for the man in red watches.
Her warmth sent tingling down my arms as I held her close. Her brown eyes and smile against mine told me I was home. Nurture, protect.
Small spheres sneak and sink. They flow to the feet, finding themselves shards cutting deep.
A lie told to be justification in the crime, all in order to be nice. Drop the nice and you see the broken girl trying to sing. Instead, she has become stone.
Up there on pedestals, you perch, looking down upon mere mortals. You killed the one winged angel, but there hides another.