bloody martyr, muse of mine,
the people chant your name
with that old grief-filled timbre-

all of a sudden, i understand the idolatry.
you are carved from the marble of this earth
born of stardust, of something otherworldly,
ethereal in manner. lifechanging to many.

but, my darling Icarus, i cannot be here
when you fall from the sky.
i will be your Brutus. your Judas Iscariot.
your doom.
Cassandra has told you this, and you did not believe her.

she told you that i will take
and take and take until there is nothing of you left.
plucking feathers from your back
carving symbols into your heart
leaving you there to burn.
a trail of oil showing my path away from you.
she told you that
if i am with you, i cannot possibly stop myself from being your end.
i will not choose to try, she said.
you did not believe her.

i am choosing to try, now.
perhaps, now that i have left
with only a note, and no real goodbye,
perhaps now you will listen, my dear.

understand that i do not love you any less.
i would tear apart the universe to reach you
if i heard the sound of your cry.
understand that i am doing this for you.

understand that, selfishly, i am doing this for me.
when it happens, i cannot watch your fall.