i need to be let go,
like icarus near the sun,
my wings will break,
and i will not make it,
alas, the man has won.
like a trojan horse, he comes for me,
in my dreams, my mind
but there is nothing left.
and to this he is blind.
a man of God, or God, he fell astray.
and he looks down upon
me and you.
or perhaps, away.
what was your favorite color? red.
and the purple flush of my face
as your hands cradled my throat, squeezed hard
with the warmth of Death’s embrace.  
now, i find myself lost, where the dark seeks
to be,
a monster on an upside-down throne.
i must be cured of this disease,
to know the light where Icarus had flown.
and so i sit, an animal
chained to what i know so well
amid the cries, my own and yours
aflame in some forgotten hell.