I am the fallen angel, the risen demon. Which ever you see. With a sweet smile and a jab to the head, my anger shall meet you. But with the break of a twig, I shall fall. A fragile fighter, a weeping willow standing in the wind.
A gentle rose, with the sharp thorns on my petales. Will the next rain kill me, or will it make me stronger?
I am the rising angel, the falling demon. Which ever you meet. A sweet smile filled with cheer or covered with blood. With the sound of a breaking twig I kill or heal. A bright flower, a burning blade.
Am I covered in blood or is it tears? Am I falling or am I rising? What am I? What do you see?
A confused little girl?
A dying angel?
A bleeding demon?
What am I?
