How many times have I been here?



Burned out in an amber blaze of makeshift glory,
ashes spread in a cosmic reminder of my own failures, and yet
I believe I've left breadcrumbs but they've all but forgotten me
now.


There's no easy way to breathe
in a vaccuum.
There's no sturdy answer
in space.
There's no way to get away
from myself.
There's no spark left
in me.

And to the frame I've tethered myself to all these years,
and to the support I've all but thrown away,
and to the anchors, the gravities,
the spiders that kept me spun...

...