! TW ! Mentioning suicide, blood, knife !

I stand in a misty path, all alone.

A knife in my hand.

My gray, big wings match my torn dress with ruffles.

“I was never meant to end up on this path, but here we are,” I sigh quietly.

I fall onto wet stones, surrounded by heather.

It was never easy to be an angel. People wish they could grow wings, until they realise the responsibility. I’ve never actually wished to be an angel. I was cursed into being a one of them - but I guess it was my fault.

It was all my fault.

When I was alive, I was a bad person. I’ve hurt some people - emotionally, physically too.

Now, my curse is my punishment.

“But it’s been too long.”

In despair, I grasp onto my knife and holding it tightly, I stab it hard into my wings. Blood flows through my hands, but nothing can stop me.

Tears dripping down from my dark eyes, they mix with my blood.

I cry ugly, not because of my injury, but from the cruel things I’ve done.

I am not truly an angel, I am just a cheap copy.

And it all began that one night, when I jumped off my window, and I grew wings. Back then I thought this was a blessing, but no one like me deserves to be blessed.

I cut through my wings completely. My back bleeds uncontrollably, my wings collapse on the ground. It starts raining, and my tears blend with water dripping down my cheeks.

Yes, I’ve hurt them - emotionally, physically too.

It was my fault, my sin, my punishment.

But now, I felt that I was forgiven.

Angels don’t cry. But humans do.