Angels

That night I laid on my bed and visited the place where the angels sing.

It was dark and I was sparkling,

Like an orb of light travelling across the water of the void,

Bursting into a sherbet cloud of tiny little periwinkle meow meow meows,

After downing a fistful of shrivelled shrooms at the bus stop with you in the rain,

Where you said you'd squeezed their heads and they went blue and that's how you knew,

You were sending us into celestial bliss and not a one-way trip from a death cap kiss.

And this, at sixteen, this,

Was how I knew the angels still existed.

Writer: Matthew Phillips

Editor: Candice Humphries