i ask you:

as you stood before the mountain peaks
do you remember its name
do you remember the bite of the frost
on the fingers you dont have anymore?
do you remember the cold and how it clouded
the vision youve gone so long without?

"when submerged in darkness,"
you say
"one grasps at the light-
no matter how deeply it stings,
for it is something, anything-
in a world of nothing, nothing,
nothing"

your silhouette falters, you shake until your shape is unrecognizable

though i test your limits with the pain of postcards, like scalpels in your side

i must admit: i am sorry.

you have known a world
in which the world is nonexistent
and so you value every bug
and every bird
and comes across your windowsill
you hold them all close
and sing them to sleep

and yet, i continue to observe
that to have lived in death for so long
makes one so hungry for life,
so that even after a hundred lifetimes
of living-
you will maul and **** and tear apart
a thousand butterflies
and a million men
to run from the silence of the void

the warmth in your eyes explodes into fire
no, you refuse to die

he keeps making wings
to have fleeting touches
with the sun
and every time, he falls

all he has for building
is what he finds in his heart
but wax always melts in the heat;
icarus & apollo were not meant to be

and yet:
he falls into the ocean again
and again
and again.

'perhaps,' he prays, young and naive
'that great star too, wishes
he were not made of flame
so that, for more than a moment, he might know me'

caught between the sun and the moon
both become lost to me
and i find i am nothing more
than the vast and endless sky inbetween

the air is thick, hot, and forest green
with the daggers youre always staring
i cant help but sigh; theyre always for me
i never meant to destroy you
but ill take your gaze however it comes
you destroy me too

icarus, i believe
is heavily overwritten
especially by me

but golden eyes
and golden wings
never melt
from the mind
of a poet;

it's our apollos
that drive our pens
to begin with

fun and games
and bright lights on strings
stuffed plushies & autumn leaves
and kindness from every
person i see

until
you remove the carnival glass
and im seen for what i am
and the carnival goers
in all their own carnival masks
do not understand

ive spoken my truth
so they pack up the stands
pile bright costumes
into dark vans

and i find myself left
with an empty field
of cold air