Icarus

I find satisfaction in the promise of a life outside the city

Perverse pleasure in the uniformity of being another bloke on my way to work

The bland sameness of the suburbs draws me in

A moth to a candle,

Shrivelling and wilting in a magnificent burial pyre of individuality

For no reason other than the fact that I was born near the flame,

And told that the flame was my raison d’être

Now fly to it.

Feel the heat on my fragile wings.

I am Icarus, too close to the sun

But the sun is my destiny

My fiery end I seek.

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