I THINK MY PROBLEM IS FLINGING MYSELF OFF CLIFFS WITHOUT BOTHERING TO SEE HOW DEEP THE RAVINE IS. I CARE TOO MUCH TOO FAST UNTIL I'M *BURNING

he leans in to kiss you. his lips graze yours, a careful brush, so close but not close enough, as the two of you breathe the same air. his breath is warm, his body is warm, everything about him is so warm when you feel so cold. next to him you feel like ice. and his touch melts your cool skin, and you’re melting, melting, gone. you’re kissing him, your chapped lips on fire. your baby is the sun and yes, you know this is going burn eventually. it burns already anyway. but you’d burn into ashes for him. you’d fade for him until there was none of you left.

his gaze leaves nothing of you. you burn until you smolder every time he looks your way. he’s older than you, and it’s almost like he’s lived so many centuries before this one. and he calls you “my love” and “baby boy” and he makes you feel soft even when you’re sweat drenched, even when your skin tastes like the ocean.

you’re on fire, but it’s alright. / there’s pain in this desire, but nothing’s felt more right.

icarus, your baby is a fire.
no.
your baby is a thousand fires.
your baby is a thousand fires,
and each one is so beautiful,
that you don’t mind
how heated
things are getting.

this love is tragic, dear icarus.  and although you know it’s going to **** you, or maybe even because you know it’s going to **** you, you can’t stop loving him, and the heat radiating from his skin.

It was early July when I kissed my father Daedalus goodbye.

She burned so extravagantly under the stars.

I soared through soggy summer air.

All the while the love in her faded.

My fall into autumn was triumphant.

I burn up easy
It's in my DNA.
I'm like Icarus's sun.

Or maybe
I'm more like Icarus's son
Hell bent on seeing hell
In front of me.
I don't believe anything unless
It's in front of me.
And I can taste it like food
And drink it like water.

I'm not Icarus
More like Sideshow Bob
Just helping the disaster move along.
Pushing the people I love into the fire.
Letting Daedalus turn his only son into a parable.

maybe the reason i always call myself icarus
is that the only person who never saw this coming
was me.
maybe the reason i always call myself icarus
is because my mother shook and cried as she
strapped wax wings on me and said,
“do not look at the stars”
because she knew childish wonder
would only **** me.
maybe the reason i always call myself icarus
is that i wish i had been that light, i wish i had
been able to see those stars and really
touch them.
maybe the reason i always call myself icarus
is because i’m a ******* tragedy but nobody
seems to realize it except me.
no one ever felt the fall quite like
me.
maybe the reason i always call myself icarus
is because the only person i’ve ever disappointed
is myself, my own ambition, my own dreams.
maybe the reason i always call myself icarus
is because i always feel like i’m
falling.

it was you and me until it wasn’t anymore--
i’m realizing that state borders are bigger than i thought they were,
that four seven ten hours is a longer drive than it used to be.
it was you and me until it started getting darker earlier.
i’m realizing how dark the sky is when light pollution blots out the stars,
when all i can see is the moon blindingly bright.
it’s the kind of condition that daedalus would’ve wished for,
because if icarus couldn’t see the stars then he wouldn’t have fallen.
i’m realizing how dark dorm rooms are
when there’s no one else there except the solid weight
of loneliness.
i either forget to fall asleep or nod off too early;
it’s not like i have anyone keeping track for me anymore.
i’m realizing how free i used to be, a car and a highway and time,
and i’m realizing how stranded i am now: i’m feeling the freefall
of finding that i’ve lost my feathered wax wings.
it was you and me until i stopped listening, and then it was
just you.
i’m still waiting to hit the water, with bated breath to feel the shatter.
it was you and me--
until it wasn’t anymore.
until there wasn’t any more.

apollo kissed his wings
and forgot to mention
how everything he touches turns to dust

how prettily he cries when he falls,
how beautiful he looks
being ****** up by the sea
maybe this was always his destiny,
to fall twice over and drown

i wish i would've caught you
such a useless sentiment
if wishes were horses, beggars would ride

apollo b u r n s, burns so brightly
burns like the hot sun
but his eyes are blue, cold like dying stars;
he fries his retinas, anyway

never cared too much for his own safety
when he could gaze upon
love upon
worship upon the sun

sunburned and scarred,
would you envelope him in warmth
those last few seconds
before he succumbed to the freezing ocean?

one last night with the fallen,
apollo's fingers graze the gentle curve of his spine
dip into the nooks of his hipbones
and he sings even as he singes

one last night with a beautiful, falling boy
destined to plummet
yet always aiming high

never once did he let fate provide limitations
regret? not a thing
that boy knew how to *f l y

A bluebird flies, fearless, in the clouds, but succumbs to fate,
Falling. Its wings broken bent and belted in the cry of last hope.
If only Icarus weren’t so close— as sky gives way to sea.