Falls

You start out starry-eyed, believing yourself healed, you stare into magnolia blossoms and feel lighter, feel muscles that have not stretched in many dark months rev up their engines. 

But the tank is empty, your machine is all out of gas, at first encounter of an anthill, it stalls, begins to tumble backwards. You see the abyss again, how familiar, how you never wanted to recognize it to begin with and now you know its every crevice, every rough edge as you tumble toward the bottom. 

Along the way, there are spots of light, little flames burning as reminders that you are not but a husk. It is hard to grab them, when you forgot you had hands. They fade into darkness as I pass them. They will be there on the way up. 

It gets tiresome describing the exact same fall
a thousand times.

You wonder what the solution to that
might be.