The Angels

The Angels
Anonymous living, in the folds of society’s skirt. Charred hopes replaced with ashes, dead dreams crackle under foot. Searing lava painted black, float along. Never mind the busy white noise, soul piercing sirens Relax. Passing lonely islands made solely to placate the whims of the filthy rich, decadent wannabes. Cruising Sunset Boulevard, some do like it ...