They are depicted with wings and halos.
It feels as though you sew them on my back,
In an effort to show me how much you think it fits.
You tie them over with bows and pretty bits of lace.
They cross over my skin, soft, a single piece of ribbon crossed around me.
You smile as you tighten the shiny satin bow across my chest.
You hold me in your arms and try,
Try to ignore the drying blood on my back.
I whisper that it’s healed, it won’t hurt any more.
Only because you’re still here.
When ever will you believe me?
I wonder if I should tell you,
You can’t stitch wings on me and call me an angel.
No matter how much you want to.
No matter how hard you try.