They’re not giving them back.

None of that is how angels work.

Yet, for some reason, you try anyway.

You wander the woods,

Lost in the fog around you,

Offering your starving blood

As though that will do something.

The gates of heaven bar you.

“It is not your time yet,” says the thing at the door.

You protest, but it does not listen.

“I’ll do better this time! I swear!”

When will you understand

That there is nothing you can do?

This isn’t your fault.

This fate will not change.

This is how it is.

Even the angels beg you

Not to blame yourself.

Set down the knife.

Stop cutting away your soul

For something that won’t happen.

Your destruction isn’t worth it.

“Stop trading your health,”

Say the angels,

“And let yourself live.”

It won’t bring them back,

But it’s what they would’ve wanted.

It’s what we all would’ve wanted.