“Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents and harmless as doves"

Months ago your mother told you i might be an angel, though sleeping like this red brother on my forearm. Spending nights now in a cave, thankful he can sleep while we move against a shaved head, Pin Me Down, wings where we can't see, arrested behind me. Placing metal objects in my palm with which to keep a straight fist. Knuckles like knives, quietly sharpening them over so often its so hard for me to fall asleep when i'm told. Can they hear me, whispering through that tiny hole in the wall? Trembling with the light, it gets lost in this dying tide. But all is returned that was once taken, it is only their shapes that change in the dark