My wings melted.
I'm trying to piece together puddles of
roasted memories and every drop was me
at some point in time.
The sun is red-hot with regrets of hesitation.
I daren't blink,
staring right into your blinding light.
Can you take ownership of
the sweltering excitement you leave
in your wake?
Am I getting too close?
Are your walls too high
to even cast shadows
on my forgotten wings?
Every breath tastes like burning plastic
and I can't make excuses
for the taste anymore.
I flew too close and somehow
never saw it coming.
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