Wax Wings

I want to be the next Icarus. I want them all to see me soar triumphantly to the sun with wax wings upon my back, only to fall in the ensuing moments.

I want them to see that all I ever did was only worth nothing: that the most I’d ever be able to take claim to would be my own shame and demise.

I want to take my fall while the hot wax scorches my skin. I want to lean my head back and smile at the sun that felt an inch away.

I want to know how he felt so that I might feel the same. I want to feel Death’s same kiss that she gave to him on the back of my own neck.

I want to see what colors the gods choose to paint the sky as I watch my world burn beneath me. In shades of gold, I will crash to the ground.

Icarus is who I shall be, and just as he I will laugh in the moments of my decline.