Temptation is a sweet burn, isn't it?
Like the way you allow the sun to burn you up because you simply cannot pull yourself from its warm rays.
But it's painful in its price, right?
The way you lay awake because your skin burns red and peels away, all from letting the sun hold you prisoner.
It felt like that, I suppose.
It felt good to give in, allow the feathers to be stained from my mind.
But once the colors of my bad decisions would not wash away, they crumpled under the pigments and fell from my back.
It burned like when the sun pulls your skin from your body.
Slow and searing.
But once the floor under my feet gave way, my decaying wings could not hold.
The fall was fast and spiraling, like the air around me moved to fast, so I could not catch any of it in my lungs.
The pain hit hard at first, unforgettable and suffocating. But the numbness took over not too long after.
My new palace of fire gave me constant warmth and constant burn along my skin. Soon all of it fell away.
I did not grieve long for my silver-white wings, for I grew a new set. Yet, these wings were not meant to carry you higher, but sink you deeper into darkness.
In a time I struggle to remember, I was once the visualization of grace. And now here I lay, smothered by all the fiery decay.