An Angel Will Die

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On the mattress was blood. On my shirt was blood.
I had white lips, a pale face.
My eyes were closed, and my chest no longer lifted. The sheets were as wrinkled as my blanket.
My hair looked almost as white as the wings, which embellished my back.

Many people breathed in the grey air. One of them was the policeman, who entered my room with the sound of sirens. He walked with his head up high and looked at the doctors and the detective in the light-brown coat. They were way too many people for such a small room. Way too many people to look at my shabby walls.
Way too many people to breath in the grey air.

I didn't always want to end that way. There was a time, in which I loved, and didn't just breathe in snowflakes. There were times, in which I hid behind brick walls and watched people. Sometimes they kissed, and I thought it was beautiful.
But I always hid. I stayed in my shed and hid from myself and was scared to go out. I tried to hide myself from my thoughts by hanging pictures from people who loved one another on the wall. But I couldn't lie, my shoulders sank and my thoughts shone through.
That's why I liked it in my shed. There was room for all my thoughts and I was able to run away, if I wanted to.
I could feel my burnt lungs, and sour taste. The kettle was boiling, the tea would soon be ready. The fan tried hard to make parts of the grey air disappear, but it only raised dust. The light's gone, day's end.

There was also a time where I felt good in a café, but I know now that there was too little space for my thoughts. Sometimes they crushed me, and I didn't know how to escape, because they wouldn't go away, even if I left the café. That's why I got my tools, but I never used them. I looked at them while I was sitting on the mattress and tried to hide from my thoughts. I looked at my wooden figures. They embodied love, even though they had no face or heart. Love was something fascinating.

I felt something on my back. It was on a spot, where I couldn't reach it. I struggled to catch it as much as I was struggling to pay rent. My cold bracelet touched my back, which made me get goosebumps. I knew there was something on my back, I just couldn't find it. Couldn't feel it. But there was something. I stroked with my left hand over my right shoulder blade. I had felt it. When I tried to touch it again, it was gone. And suddenly it was there again. It was something sharp. I grabbed it with my finger tips and pulled it out. I saw something red.

It was a white feather, which was soaked with blood. I stared at it. The explanations were missing. The itching didn't stop. Frustrated I pulled on my shirt. The clock on the bell tower stroke two am.
I had wings. They projected big, powerful and protective from my back. I stood up, the air was greyer than ever, I had to get out. At first I went out into the street. It was dark and dusty.
I found myself in the café. When I walked in I felt more thoughts than I did before. It had been a long night, a strange man was sitting there. He was stirring in his coffee and didn't seem to notice me. Maybe he didn't want to notice me, maybe he was just hiding. I sat down on a red chair.

Red, the colour of love, the feather, danger.
I stayed in the café until I felt like somebody told me, that I was in Class A Team, stuck in my daydream, in the middle of the night. Then I left the café, drunk with words.

In my shed I used the tools for the first time, which I got to express myself. I didn't know what I wanted to use them for, or what my head tried to use them for. My hands worked on their own accord on the piece of wood.
At the end I had bow and arrow

The door to my shed stood open and my black boots shone in the light from the lamppost. I bent down, to be as small as possible, if somebody walked by. But there was nobody there. I waited and tried to distract myself from my thoughts. The two wooden figures, without a face, but they loved each other. Suddenly I heard laughter. Two girls were walking down the street. I watched them. I knew them, I had seen them before and I heard other people talking about them. One of them was unemployed, she's been this way since 18. The other one seemed to have a good life, she was still going to school and experiencing adventures, but lately her face seems slowly sinking, wasting, crumbling like pastries. I will try to hit her.