Poem: The Wings of Icarus Were Never Meant to Fly So High
the wings of icarus
by Dementis
sunlight beats down hard here,
my hands aching for the touch of sun,
like two lost souls swimming
in the blue skies for everyone.
(blue skies, cherry pies, lullabies)
it doesn't hurt when it begins,
d-a-m-n-a-t-i-o-n
in the looking-glass of the ocean.
(let it go to voicemail,
i'm not coming home tonight)
she's the only one i love,
but she wants to be a hunter again,
and i'm too busy flying amongst stars
and sunflowers
to learn i can't please the both of us.
(i don't want to see the sky again)
and yeah, i'm a bitch,
but with this sunlight burning me up,
i long for a gray and rainy day,
an umbrella made of air,
hanging on until i drown.
no amount of coffee
can bring me the delusion
of that landscape of clouds
without also pulling me up and up on wax wings
until my eyes turn red
and i plummet to my watery death.
there's a knot in my stomach, a lump in my throat
that keeps me from breathing.
no sin nor evil could change how i feel,
no strength of ocean or heat of sun.
(though others have tried, indefinitely)
there's a little black spot inside of me.
funny how the cracks don't seem to show,
and i'm getting tired
and i'm getting cold.
don't wake me now,
with thunder exploding and lightning flashing,
and i'll paint it on the walls:
"nobody knows."
(why am i too small to carry my own wings?)
by Dementis
sunlight beats down hard here,
my hands aching for the touch of sun,
like two lost souls swimming
in the blue skies for everyone.
(blue skies, cherry pies, lullabies)
it doesn't hurt when it begins,
d-a-m-n-a-t-i-o-n
in the looking-glass of the ocean.
(let it go to voicemail,
i'm not coming home tonight)
she's the only one i love,
but she wants to be a hunter again,
and i'm too busy flying amongst stars
and sunflowers
to learn i can't please the both of us.
(i don't want to see the sky again)
and yeah, i'm a bitch,
but with this sunlight burning me up,
i long for a gray and rainy day,
an umbrella made of air,
hanging on until i drown.
no amount of coffee
can bring me the delusion
of that landscape of clouds
without also pulling me up and up on wax wings
until my eyes turn red
and i plummet to my watery death.
there's a knot in my stomach, a lump in my throat
that keeps me from breathing.
no sin nor evil could change how i feel,
no strength of ocean or heat of sun.
(though others have tried, indefinitely)
there's a little black spot inside of me.
funny how the cracks don't seem to show,
and i'm getting tired
and i'm getting cold.
don't wake me now,
with thunder exploding and lightning flashing,
and i'll paint it on the walls:
"nobody knows."
(why am i too small to carry my own wings?)