There’s not much you can do

when you’re only seventeen revolutions

around the sun.

Push this button!

Pull that lever!

Take this upgrade,

And it will pilot your ship higher and steadier than ever!

Or at least that’s what they advertise.

With this sweet, sputtering, dying engine o’ mine

The promise of salvage for faulty mechanics

Excites,

Enthralls,

Ensnares me.

There isn’t much you can’t do

when you are only seventeen revolutions around the sun,

but you feel like could you do thirty.

Supplement my rusty reality for ethereal ecstasy!

Every button, every lever, every gauge, and monitor o’ mine

Awake and alive!

As I breathe in the beautiful smoke

I exhale the dissonant fumes that follow.

And what follows after?

Aching, dehydrated lungs that burn for another taste

of artificial happiness.

To invite it into my sanctuary seemed like a good idea

And it was.

At the time.

When your ship is faltering under conditions you cannot control

Any “upgrade” is a blessing

So I enjoy the fix

At least once,

Or twice,

Possibly thrice.

A liar once said that death comes in three’s

But lies are how we survive.

There isn’t much you can’t do

when you’re only seventeen revolutions;

falling into the sun,

ignorant of the danger that looms.