((So the ~s are supposed to be indents, but... it wouldn't indent. stupid web formatting. Sorry if they're distracting or anything.))

Snow is falling,
~and glowing and
~~smiling- come sing with me.
Come sit on my carpet
~let me tell you a story.

Icarus and Sisyphus walk into a bar
~holding hands.
The bartender looks up and says "what can I get you?"
Icarus adjusts his unwieldy wings, leans against the large boulder
that his date has been pushing and replies-

No. Not today. Children, look at the snow dancing down
It is not soft blankets and mittens.
It is not frosty and forests and ski masks-
Look at the snow.
Sit on this carpet and look at the news-
~Between the wars and the floods and the pews full of hatred
Cars are flipping over, sleet quenching
~~exhaust-pipe flames.

Stop telling stories of jolly old men and I'll
Stop thinking of her when I shovel, if you
Stop driving by the winter's drive-bys and collisions
She is not thinking about us-
~~~I know.

I've finally realized it's not her
Who's been leading me on, not her who's been promising sunshine
~I'm done lying to myself

Forget the woods on a snowy evening
Before I sleep, there are too many miles
~of she-loves-me-not to travel
Forget the sun on the frozen rhinestones
~the sun pushes itself up that hill day after day
~~and you think it's beautiful?
Melt those wings.

Barkeep, something strong for me and Sisyphus tonight
Something to smother the smoke coming form my flight
because I'm in denial-
Allusion can only go so far before we're eluded by illusion
and if you spin the truth, you'll fly out of orbit
be stripped of your planetary status for
believing too hard in the old world for
~letting your heart go icy with
imagining you're her sun

She is not your waxen wings,
~You are melting.
~~Shooting sparks
You can ignore what you're doing until you begin to focus
on the crackle of the paper
and the burn from your pen
~now breathe deep
and light up another letter she'll never read
~she's not thinking about you.

This story is done. Fuck this rocking-chair sitting room
I am done convincing myself that I believe in beauty
Done convicting the cynic
Done trusting the romance of the ninth circle of orbit
Done trusting the dance of the snowflake
Done with never-ending phone calls
and guitar-smiles and swoons and croons
~she's not thinking of you,
So light up your wings,
Get that boulder to the top of the hill-
~~Now fall.