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

The truth can't save you.

No amount of steel umbrellas and twitterpation can keep this from happening.

Just another hailstorm of broken glass and accidents waiting to happen.

But the world keeps on turning

Perhaps too fast.

Punctuated, exclamated by an ejaculate of denial.

All the lies and checks the system burns through in the first five seconds

This is not happening.

This will not go unpunished.

This did not happen.

This will pass.

This is not my blood.

I can still feel my legs.

I'm not sure what I held onto in that moment

I'd like to say it was hope

fear

desperation

final negotiations with jesus and all the wisemen

and their fancey hats

What the hell is murr anyway?

Brings me back to the memory of a headache.

Opioid withdrawal?

Muscle regeneration?

Nerve death?

In explicit detail and gratuitous length.

Remembering the chill of half of your blood falling out of you

and the slow

dizzy drip into the ground as the sky falls out of your fingers

and the firm certainty beneath becomes a lazy cloud to cradle you

swinging like a willow in the wind, or a flowery dress in a sweeping waltze

to lay you gently where there's no cold

no wet

no sharp overload of syringes, sutures, transfers, and the arcane disembodied amusement of pulling sharp out of your throat with your own fingers

thinking it sparkles

not too far from a diamond.

Something pretty for the scrapbook

all too afraid of the dark tiptoeing in

claiming me for sleep

or perhaps a solution more solid.

But there was only anger

when the darkness claimed

and went.

That's the sad matter of the truth.

The state of that nature.

No dancing white cherubs, or golden pearl inlaid blockades

There was no redemptive, revelative chorus of angels, and friendships renewed

no series of letters, no sterilized ladles and filthridden soup kitchens

No forgiveness or handshakes

no bracelets, no morals, no moralists, no agenda

no tickertape parades

no desperate pleas on the sides of water towers

no quaint justice or somber rectitude

I said the truth couldn't save you.

Nothing can.