I had wings. They weren't majestic. They were frail. But with those frail w”had wings. They weren't majestic. They were frail. But with those frail wings, I could fly. I'd even flown to the highest places. With those frail wings, I had reached the sky. But then, all at once, my frail wings were torn apart. And I fell rapidly from that sky. Without even a c”had wings. They weren't majestic. They were frail. But with those frail wings, I could fly. I'd even flown to the highest places. With those frail wings, I had reached the sky. But then, all at once, my frail wings were torn apart. And I fell rapidly from that sky. Without even a c”had wings. They weren't majestic. They were frail. But with those frail wings, I could fly. I'd even flown to the highest places. With those frail wings, I had reached the sky. But then, all at once, my frail wings were torn apart. And I fell rapidly from that sky. Without even a chance to scream or speak, My wings were torn to pieces in that fall. Then people gathered around me and tore my wings apart. Blood flowed from my wings, But the people didn't care. It hurt, but still, the people didn't care. In the end, I was left with my bloody, shredded wings, but I won't give in. I will rip those bloody, torn, frail wings from myself, and I will sew myself a pair of magnificent wings. wraith’s Substack is free today. But if you enjoyed this post, you can tell wraith’s Substack that their writing is valuable by pledging a future subscription. You won't be charged unless they enable payments.
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