my wings are growing in
my skin is splintering and
all the blood is rushing to my shoulder blades
these aren't pillow wings
all feather and quill
ruffled by a slight breeze
buzzing and electric
they hum and sting like wasps
a steady trickle of sparks drips down my spine
and when i shrug the wind changes around me
i'll pry your filthy hands from my wings
i'll wave to you from between the clouds
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