Originally published by Drunken Pen Writing on May 29th, 2018.

---

Broken Icarus

Years spent stumbling through drug dens, dive bars, and flop houses
    experiencing the highest highs and lowest lows
        sticking out like blood stains on white blouses
            everyone sees and everyone knows.

But nobody says a word
    not even one
        while you flew like a bird
            Icarus nearing the sun.

Too many times falling with singed wings
    but never quite crashing
        always managing a final flutter with those broken things
            as your life starts flashing.

How many times can you relearn to fly
    away from a world of inebriation
        and do your best to scrape by
            without naming the sun as your last destination?