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Emily Jun 2017
Cautionary tales
displayed in hues of brown
My delicate Icarus incarnate
you're slipping
and grabbing at anyone you can
on the way down
I manifest in pastel pastures
under the Santa Ana sun
falling from greatness is far more spectacular
than listening to anyone
purge yourself of meals
and pride
and ancient deities
paint false idols in your image
cut off your legs
passively watch wax
drip from your wings
In your wake lays every discarded version of yourself
hollowed out and far more tan
My wanderess,
beautiful Icarus.

— The End —