Icarus's blog: "Hurts to watch."

Very nearly dead of Hypoxia and dreamscapes turned nuclear summer.
Sundered like the flesh of dangling grapes
made glorius winter in my content.
This is the now we have prayed for
this is the when we have hoped for
this is the bed made,
these are the linens stained
these are the reasons why
and you would have us ask for another.
You will not be spared.
I will not be burnt in sacrifice.
You will not be the earth that tethers me to the candy of a new generation.
You will not be the voice that beckons me to waltze through another day of
love sonnets
agony dirge
and dreadful, empty smiles
you are not the answer
you are not the question
I am not the paragon.
You are the symptom
I am the disease.