A Conversation About Angels In Passing
poem by Robert Ackerman
content/trigger warnings: depiction of self-harm
You unexpectedly spoke of “angels”
During our daily breakfast
And how you'd like to ‘fly among them,’
I just grunted and feigned interest,
As I stirred sugar into my coffee,
Never giving your words credence,
I came home that evening
To find you sprawled out,
Dead
On the living room floor,
A bottle of sleeping pills beside you
And the sound of beating wings
In the distance.