Flying sucks balls

 
I hate being trapped in a giant  
metal tube that  
throws itself through  
solid air with  
some strange  
sorcery  
called lift.  
 
I can’t see it,  
touch it,  
taste it.  
 
Yet this turbulent  
force steals the  
only thing I can’t let go of…  
 
control.  
 
I have to trust  
that science  
is real,  
that the pilot is  
capable,  
and that the guy fabricating the shit  
wasn’t hungover when  
he soldiered the rivets  
on the wing.  
 
I fantasize about the  
way the plane is going  
explode without warning  
splitting me into  
a million uncontained  
particles  
that flutter,  
unremembered,  
to the light blue  
ocean.  
 
My primal fear  
that  
I might  
go down  
in a  
 
hailstorm of  
shredded metal  
 
doesn’t stop me  
from boarding,  
it just makes me  
insane.    
 
You are a  
fucking airplane  
inside my  
empty thoughts.  
 
I’m not sure  
how to land  
anymore.