Scars make martyrs and monsters.
Idolizing the villains who were yesterday’s anti-heroes
Waiting for them to burn their capacity to create.
The angels burn brightly, softly, sensationally,
To follow chaotically into a second fall.
Exactly as dulcetly as they first sang,
They clash crassly against some new foe,
But the only ones standing in their way
Are the ones burning as brightly as they.
