For all those who have lost the battle

Your knuckles are red and your hands 

are bruised from beating down the angels 

that keep pulling on your arm. Fighting for 

a destiny that is not meant for you, but 

still having enough pugnacity to keep 

your feet on the ground. You wonder if 

there is a hell and if that is where you 

belong. You wonder if there is ‘wrong’ 

in your veins and you wonder if fire will

burn your skin. Your knuckles are red 

and your hands are bruised and you can’t

help but feel gravity pull on your legs, 

dragging you down slowly. You didn’t wish 

for death, but death wished for you and 

you were too polite to say ‘no’.