my hands are warm.
that is not normally the case now is it?
if you have had the chance of reading a lot my literature,
my hands are always cold.
they aren't anymore.
neither is my heart.
or my head.
or my soul
or this dread.
bad guys finish first
stand up, clean up and op
sincerely left the ideas for you and top
something changed or rather something's in the way
look at that
the dissipation of your presence
star dust in my eyes
blinded by nothingness
Icarus doesn't want to be a star
Icarus doesn't want to love a star
Icarus just wants to fly between the motions
surpassing the peace that echoes understanding.
Icarus wants to dance with the music booming in the blood
shed and shared and scared to be scared
versions of ourselves as we lie in this bed
Icarus' plummet is nestled in the
collide of my body and its water
crash into the nothingness of green eyes
half smiles and unfinished lines
practice with me? remind of what I am supposed to say?
you are different
I need to change my approach
what should I say?
yes I believe you
yes I would rather be here
than in my own bed?
yes you are all that I hoped you would be
yes you lived up to the expectation
no I cant taste it on your lips
no I cant smell the hurt they leave on you
no I cant see the shatter and the scars
no I cant see that you're drowning in the same way I am drowning
yes I care
no no really
stop speaking to me?
what do you want me to say?
I empathize?
No,
Icarus' purpose is not to provide a lesson
Comfort in making misguided and rebellious mistakes
Icarus' purpose, trope and existence is a reminder that....
if you want something bad enough, you are blind to the immediate effect but promise yourself the reward despite the approach
To fly so close to a sun I have no interest in is poetic isn't it?
Look at me, warm hands and a hollow chest.
radiating the silence instead of reverberating it
not broken, pulverized
dust in the eyes of my enemies
a sandstorm for prospective lovers
I refuse to immortalize another boy.
I am not your God.
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