stick and stones and electricity
that's what you are made of.
there is a spark, a burning to this world.
it'll hurt, when you fall. i know it will.
made you those wings myself.
try to imagine: lit match, candle flame,
bare feet in the snow.
turn your head, avert your gaze
but your hand reaches out, body leaning forward.
resistance can only last so long. i should know.
you tried, baby,
and that has to count for something, right?
sticks and stones and sparks
that's what you are made of
what you will return to
in the end, your end.
hurts to even think about
constellations flickering in and out of existence
my solemn oaths following right after.
it'll hurt when you fall
wanting to so badly despite
or maybe because.  i know. I know.
made a mistake in your creation
handed down a flaw
one of my very own
sins passed along
side by side with that ratty teddy bear.
stitched right in.
i didn't mean it. too late.
this wasn't what i wanted. too late.
you burn the way i do
you'll burn the way i do.