The house is empty. As am i. I can feel the emptiness inside me.
     I love being alone. But not like this.
The feeling of betrayal chips at me
     threatening to reveal my true character.

     What will they think of me then.

Memories are like fireflies in the dark of her loss
Where love grapples to know bounds only the spirit can cross.
I experienced the intangible breath of her soul
As it escaped and created this invisible hole.
Her small, fleeting life showed me that I can't always hold on
But precious things must be cherished even after they're gone.

The emptiness visits as dusk begins to fade away.
The loneliness awakens to indulge your thoughts.
The sadness rinses your eyes,
and you begin to converse with the thoughts;
thoughts that continue to manifest 'til your body aches.

You lay, achingly;
tears leaving your face with marks.
Thoughts, rumbling like an endless drum-roll.
Your insides, sore,
chest, tightening -
breathing, difficult.
Your hands, limbs, trembling uncontrollably.

A feeling unexplainable if never felt.

This emptiness hurts -
this feeling of constant melancholia and worthlessness,
this shedding of tears,
this pain - hurts.

Somehow, the body manages to shut down;
you find peace in your sleep -
a peace that is disturbed every hour 'til you wake.

You wake to relive the nightmare of yesterday;
Aching, pondering why you continue to hold on.
Holding on 'til the inevitable happens.

Icarus washes up on Miami Beach over the spring break of 2k16 and finds a world where the gods roam the streets,
where his wax wings burned themselves into trenches of scars down his back,
where we warn our children of the dangers of flying too high,
but forget the part about the riptides waiting if you fly too low.

He asks Siri how far away the sun is,
finds Apollo in the red rocks of New Mexico
off I-40 just outside of Albuquerque,
alone and basking in the heat.
The ice caps are melting.

The sun still hurts to touch,
burning Icarus's hands and leaving fingerprints in the feathers of his melted wings,
but Apollo is much kinder now,
soothing the skin cancer with freckles and soft touches.
It no longer feels like a damning.

This is what happens to the children of tragedies:
they flinch too much,
they fall too hard,
they're fragile as glass but immune to everything the world can throw at them.
Icarus flinches at the sound of the oceans.
He knows the wrath of Poseidon.

Icarus rises from the dead with his irises washed white
and his rips etched with Hades's name:
he should have been a child of Persephone,
spring in his hands and flowers in his hair.
He should have spent his days sprawled in the sun's caress.
He should have been infinite.

Icarus flinches too much.
That's what everyone keeps telling him.
He flinches too much at every lifted voice and crashing wave and
he flinches too much when he feels sunshine on his face.
Icarus is sorry for flinching too much.
Icarus is trying not to flinch too much.
Icarus is sorry that it's taking so long to just get over his trauma and stop flinching so much--
sorry.

He doesn't know what to do now that he's touched the sun
and this time it didn't burn.
He wanted it to burn.
He wants to burn.
He wants to feel his bones breaking all over again because
that's the only time he doesn't feel like he needs to be in control.
Why is he chasing things that hurt?
Why does he feel
like he deserves to hurt?
He deserves to crash.

He finally touched the sun.
Icarus feels empty, and
he's still flinching.

Can I borrow a feeling?
I'll take whatever you can give.
I've had a real hard time dealing,
with the way that we're supposed to live.
Can I borrow a feeling?
It doesn't even have to be good,
I'd tie a rope to the ceiling
if I wasn't so sure I'd break the wood.

Can I borrow a feeling?
I'll be thankful for what you lend.
This world has stopped being appealing,
'cause while we stand, our knees tend to bend.
Can I borrow a feeling?
I can promise to put it to use,
and it's not in my nature for stealing,
I'll pay you back, this is no ruse.

I don't want to be a blank page,
displayed on centre stage.
I don't want to be a blank page,
I'm too young to feel this age.

Can I borrow a feeling?
I so badly wish to emote,
I've heard that it can be healing,
and free the hands from my throat.
Can I borrow a feeling?
I'm now really begging here,
and it's so damn revealing,
that my desperation is so clear.

I don't want to be a blank page,
displayed in my skeletal cage.
I don't want to be a blank page,
I'm too young to feel this age.

Can I borrow a feeling?
I'll be thankful for what you lend.
This life has truly sent me reeling,
and I finally feel at my wit's end.

There's a place called empty
a claustrophobic room
inside it tries to tempt me
my soul, it will, consume

It preys on broken people
whose hearts facile to break
their bones were made feeble
their brains made opaque

There's a depth beyond this place
it's relatively hard to find
your world you must embrace
for you to free your mind.

Everything converges.
The bright orange of the sun
streaking the mountains, the cool
evergreens, the rippling water
from the breeze rushing in and out,
leaves rustling to and fro,
birds singing, squirrels skittering,
all to this moment, for the journey
has fallen behind, and this is all
that is left. The bright and dark
spots left for those to wander.