Maybe angels get to fly.
Maybe Greek gods
never die,
and heroes
always win
in the end,
but those are only
lies we keep telling
cause the world
keeps on failing
and we all come
crashing down
in the end.
Maybe I am Icarus.
Maybe my wings
were made to melt
but if I am falling
you can’t catch me
until you catch yourself.

You can’t save me
you can barely
stand up
for yourself.
You have no parachute
and the plane is
already too high up.

You touch heaven
then hit the ground,
crush your spine,
make terrible sounds
as your body
folds in on itself
like a black hole
in the center of our
universe.
You take all the light you see
and never let any out for me.

You can’t save me
you can barely
stand up
for yourself.
You have no parachute
and the plane is
already too high up.

Quick sand
is your favorite playground.
Silence is your favorite soundtrack.
With a face swollen full
of all the **** you used to pull
and the scars that dance across your skin,
you pull your hair back in a bun
while you take this track, and run.
Till, the starter pistol
becomes your favorite gun.
So, before we are all our done
tell the truth.
You can’t help me
because you can’t help you.