i'm not so sure I should not use these dirty leaves to   make a crown for your heart,   to sit alone with your flesh made up from this undervalued earth.   and it seems funny that you should tattoo an angel on the body of the very skin you are trying to escape, ironic even that it is the human mind that scares you most   but where man has failed.   and with your bloodied and tired hands lead them to the shadows   where they will feast like pigs at a table fit for a king, where the heart is betrayed and consumed by greed   slowly to fall, slowly to pass.