There’s a version of me they want you to see: soft wings, bowed head, eyes that pray instead of pierce. But that’s not the one who lives in the mirror after midnight.
[Insert Date]
I didn’t fall from heaven. I walked out. One step. Then another. Each one burning away the gold leaf they painted on my name. Now I wear red — not the red of sin, but the red of wakefulness . Blood still warm. Roses before they rot.