The Hurt The Dust

Love, you have painted your fingernails red. And I excavated the marrow from my bones. Now, my heart has an open wound to vanquish. To crawl back to its subterranean grave I think I'll join Icarus and fly like a jet plane. A suicide jumper, a hatchling fledged Love, you have me crawling on a high ledge. Twenty floors up, too fearful to look down. I guess it could have been me fighting. For Fathers for Justice; melting from the sun. But I learned to step back and read some books. Dream again and shake off the hurtful dust. And rid my heart of its emptiness and hate. You crushed me like a bug and called the world To fumigate my existence from the sidewalk, But I suppose I'll never get over you. There's a better chance; that cow It jumps over the moon more than I am getting over you. I guess it was something Icarus always knew. When eagerly trying to fly with the doves in the sky.