Icarus's blog: "Augurs, Martyrs, and Agnostics"

I'll be honest.
This one's about you.

If I had a cigarette for every time I made you cry
everytime you forgot your keys
or played your awful music too loud

I could turn the sky a hazey shade of yellow.
Like that first, dusky dawn in L.A.
All the cool kids die of cancer.
I planned on something a bit more theatrical.

There'd be a band.
Or at least a solo.

What did you really feel when my world opened to you
in all the big, bumpy green.
Were you sure then?

I wasn't.
I could feel my pulse in my throat.

Crushed. Terrified.

Never so timid, and trembling as the first.
I'll never forget.
















You saw to that.