dosenherz:

helios with burnt fingertips after dragging the sun closer to the fields where icarus’ mother dances with his ghost: asks his sisters how to hold mortals, now that they won’t touch him again.

helios in worn-out skinny jeans, never lit cigarette hands trembling in the back of an aircraft hangar: asks for the night and nothing above. chaos is not afraid to torch his paper heart.

helios on his knees in a motel called ‘sweet chariot’, pays too much for sweat and spit, but knows: humans make gods out of carpet burns. humans have ways to fly.