It hits with the panicky ferocity of that moment where the wave gets in your mouth, all salt and choking and dots in your eyes.
– That moment where your breath is wet and fatal and full of fish pee.
It feels like the seconds your fingertips spend digging into the ground, clutching at grass
just before your grip fails
and the sharp things dance in your feet
waiting for you
And it’s in those seconds of suspension before your flesh hits the ground
and the crunching bones break beneath
a sky devoid of cloud.
That you realise
Your wings are purely ornamental
And you fell
for your own hype.