otp: apollo x hyacinthus

noone cared about
your mourns, apollo.
   your clothes tarred,
   your ears deaf from
   your own deafening howls,
   your eyes swollen and aching for
   your very last drop of tear had dried out.

however, everyone cared about
your poetry, apollo.
   your love letters on
   your first love’s laurel wreath.
   your joyful sighs on
   your beloved’s discus.
   your scripted psalms on
   your fallen lover’s molten wax.

—  this is the curse of a poet