Maybe I got greedy.
Maybe it's in my blood.
Maybe I'm a descendent of Icarus, the Greek son who flew too high.
All I know is that while my
ancestor was trying
to escape Crete, I've been trying
to escape myself
and baby you were my wings.
But I flew too high.
I should have noticed
the burning in my lungs,
the smoke suffocating my windpipe because I was getting too close
to your fire and with every
"I love you"
I could feel the wax
in my heart melting,
dripping down through my ribcage but when it finally fell to my feet,
I ignored the burn.
And here I am,
                         f
                          a
                            l
     ­                        l
                              i
                               n
                                 g

Waiting for you
to catch me.

Maybe the smoke
is in your eyes.

Maybe you're scared
of the flames.

Or maybe
                you can't handle
the
                                                  heat.