[ Once again I'm flying away; ]

Once again, I'm flying away.
To think, only seven months have passed
    since the last time I abandoned my perch,
    in search of a familiar resting place.
Every trace was left behind,
  as I rewired my mind
  to define at a different pace.
So you can relate.
So I can rely.

It's easy to die.
It takes a true bird of prey
  to swoop and sway,
  and take what isn't easily gained.
Remaining here has clipped my wings;
  I no longer sing.
  I no longer fly.

Far from free,
  stay up till three,
  burning my body through inflicted disease.
Cigarette butts, Bacardi dreams.
Kiss my neck,
  inhale me, breathe.

Empty moments,
  pathetic passion,
  party veterans; hometown has-been's.
I refuse to sit and say "what happened?".
The world should see what I've written on napkins.