The Writers' Circle

Fallen from the heavens
Her broken wings hang loosely
As she curses her maker
A thought strikes
She is free
Free to reign her terror on the Earth
We can't see her
But she sees us,
Whispers in our ears
"She doesn't love you.
He should die.
They don't need the money."
Taking revenge on her father,
Who cast her from the heavens
She's the thoughts in the unstable
The lust in forbidden affairs
The gun you brought to school that day
The knife you carry in your pocket
But she can still see them
Guiding us
Pushing us onto the right path
And away from her
But she fights
Still whispering to the smallest child
The one who likes to throw knives at his older sister
And even to the most devoted husband
She whispers
She is sin,
Yet still she yearns to return home
So she whispers to her former companions
Turning some of them to her side,
Breaking their wings
None can fly anymore,
But that doesn't matter.
She is in the greedy,
The ones that don't care who they step on
On their way up the ladder
The mother of evil
But still an angel
So she whispers,
Still revenging against her creator
She's the voice in my head
Telling me what to do
Trying to sway me to her side
My bad angel
But she's not just mine
She's yours
And hers
And his
She's everywhere
And she's here to stay
No matter how hard we try.