oh Icarus, you poor thing.
fell in love with the sun, the sky-
paid the price, i suppose.

why do we always pay the price for love?

Orpheus, lonesome poet, 
lost his love because he wanted to tell her they'd made it.

In my attic I keep my heart. 
I hold it there, safe amidst pillows, blankets and childhood stuffed animals. 
When I make things, I break off a piece of my heart, 
and sew it into pillows, 

When I looked at you I saw-
decades of pain and sorrow

I tried to hold you close
but you pushed me away

I dreamed and yearned for you
to find your peace

But it wasn't til he called you back
to that horrid place