If you were to go looking for Icarus,
You'd have to travel all the way to the end of the world,
New York City!
The city where dreams come true,
You'd have to travel to a run down lower Eastside apartment,
You'd find a failed theatre student,
Lining up empty wine bottles along his window ledge,
Like he was arranging a stained glass mosaic,
This city is just a shallow concrete pipe dream,
Nothing but burnt-out hopes and broken promises,
A city where Icarus would fit right in.
He listens to Debussy and waltzes around his kitchen.
He drinks dollar-store liquor like it was holy water,
He smokes Marlboro lites as if they'll really save him.
He sites on his balcony and paints the city skyline,
Even though nobody will ever see his paintings,
They are his salvation,
His confessional.
He flinches whenever he sits down,
His wounds are still sore,
A reminder of his recklessness,
This is where you'll find Icarus,
In a run-down lower Eastside apartment,
In the city where dreams come true.

The gods are sick of being gods,
So they slink away into dark alleyways,
And underground clubs,
Zeus drinks his worship from a cracked martini glass,
Artemis is locked up in some grimy jail cell,
Somewhere outside of the city,
Blood on her knuckles,
From the drunken streetside brawls, she incites,
If you were to go to a ***** little club on 55rd street,
Hiding in the smokescreen of darkness,
You'll find a saddened Apollo,
All burnt wings,
Scorched by cigarettes and whiskey,
This city's salvation isn't found in a holy temple,
It's found in the bottom of a champagne glass.
Moths flit and flutter around buzzing streetlights,
The air is thick with smog.
Aphrodite is awake again,
Drinking alone in the hotel bar... again,
she has eyeliner and mascara ringed around her eyes,
Left there from a one night stand she was already regretting before it had even begun,
One timid smile from the bartender and they're up on the rooftop,
Sharing a cigarette and naming the constellations after his signature cocktails,
Welcome to The City Of The Gods,
This so-called " heaven " is crumbling at the feet of these deities.

I remember it pretty clearly,
It was Sunday, June 12th, 2016,
It was a rainy summer as usual,
I was 11-years-old at the time,
I was sitting in my bedroom,
Listening to the radio when I heard it.
It was the first time I heard about mass-shootings.
49 deaths.
53 injuries.
It left me in shock.
It had never occurred to me that people could be so blinded by hatred and intolerance.
They don't write songs for heartbreaks like this,
There isn't a " chick flick " that could fix this,
I feel like someone has poured fire over all my emotions,
Tonight, it feels as if the sky is a graveyard of dead stars.
I'm not going to turn this into some poetic masterpiece.
This is death,
Unfixable wrongs,
Unhealable wounds.
The guilt of still being here when 49 lives are gone is drowning me.
I am sick of praying like something is going to happen,
I am sick of praying until my knees ache,
I am sick of talking about it,
People spitting out opinions like gunfire from a rifle,
Spilling out like blood with their last breaths,
I am sick of wet cheeks and red eyes.
It feels like everybody is to blame,
But at the same time, nobody is to blame,
The system is to blame,
The government is to blame,
We are to blame.
This is becoming our new " normal "
But right now it feels like we are all halfway between a heartbeat and heartbreak.

Unfortunately being " gen z " means that this system has got its sights set on stealing your voice.
Because in a society that profits from your self-doubt, loving yourself is a rebellious act.
So turn your tears into bullets,
Turn every artery in your heart into barrels for your gun.
For you are the product of a machine that chewed you up and spat you back out again because it didn't like the way you tasted.
If this world tries to take your voice then give yourself a new one.
Yell loudly and unapologetically.
When they tell you to be quieter,
Stand taller,
Rise higher,
Shout louder.
Because we are all in this together, whether we like this or not.
The stronger we are,
The weaker they become.
So we will not stand idly by while you treat us as if we are inferior.
This is the final straw,
There is no uprising coming.
We are the uprising and the revolution will not be televised.

If you should dissipate,
Please take me with you,
I vow to hereby love the void.
I pledge my alliance to the hopeless,
I offer my soul to nothing at all.
If you should dissipate,
Please take me with you,
Scatter shatter letters,
Leave me a trail of lost lexis,
If you dissipate,
Before you go,
Feed me a story,
For I feel hollow,
Plant me a garden,
Within the emptiness of my ribcage,
If you should dissipate,
Leave me your voice,
Cotton soft,
And although you have gone,
I still hear your sway.
If you should dissipate,
Leave me your legacy.

The rain crystallizes,
Collecting fragments of neon lights,
Like shards of beach glass,
Hoarded onto the windows,
London,
" the city that never sleeps ",
Poor thing,
Kept awake by the incessant sounds of its thousands of inhabitants,
Half-dipped in Latte froth,
And skinny soy mochas,
Ode to a vacant city,
Too exhausted,
Can you hear the Void calling?

I write poetry because... it is everything I will never be.
It is everything I wanted to say but never did.
Without it, I feel like scissors to violin strings.
Pulled apart, as if I was some case study, just waiting to be dissected.
Some unwanted biology lesson.
I pour my heart into these pages.
Crisp, white pieces of my mind.
Sometimes you just have to stop and observe the world.
Like you aren't in it.
Like you're watching some old black and white film.
Watching all your friends laughing together.
You feel as if you aren't in it.
The fact that you aren't there doesn't change a thing.
They're living their lives, all of them, together in that room.
While you watch.
Not alongside them.
Feeling as if life is truly a movie.
The other times you are part of this movie as a whole, you don't notice the other people who are all looking at the same things.
Thinking the same stuff.
That life is just a movie, with its actors and actresses, it's differing scenes.
It would easily go on without you if you didn't take place in it.
At that point, you realise that being afraid that somebody else will take your place, is irrelevant...
Cause somehow, everyone's place will be taken anyway, and that's because the movie is setting a new cast, and this time it's one thing you might not take place in.
Weird... I know.
Everything just seems to slot in perfectly without you there.
Almost like you were born into the wrong film.
Or handed the wrong script.
Like this isn't your life.