love is the thing with feathers

the winged bird that sings

but i am lowly icarus

i can’t feel anything

balancing my wings of wax

i mimic the birds i worship

but it’s not quite right

it’s never quite right

when feathers melt, i slip

i’m crashing toward the ocean waves

while birds laugh at my cries

how did icarus accept the fact

he’ll never truly fly?