Can you see the space?
Or maybe you can feel it's weight.
The space we've filled and emptied
Like a tank of gasoline.
Beginning with nothing,
Clear space,
But on the drop of a dime
Filling it full,
So full the we spilled a couple drops on the way out.
Though they weren't wasted.
We filled it and we used it,
Burning, sparking,
Igniting the thrill with the easy push of a pedal,
Speeding through miles of adventure, of the road.
Then the car starts putting
Because the fumes in the space are all that's left after all this motion
And that's not enough to move forward anymore,
But only enough to dally on down the road, real slowly, a foot at a time.
The fumes are the most dangerous, the most toxic,
And it's weightlessly filling our space.
Soon, the fumes filling our space will burn,
And ultimately leave nothing behind,
Nothing, but an empty, motionless body.
No movement.
No vibrations.
No humming.
Just still.
So the question remains,
To fill it, to do it all over again,
To take care and refill when
Your Space,
When Your Tank
Falls half empty, just in good care,
Or not to fill it,
Our space, Our tank,
Ever again, Ever at all.
Leave it as an empty tank,
Leave it motionless,
Leave it cold,
Leave it's remains to rot and to mold.
Allow for it's eventual decay,
Like it was a degenerative disease of a vehicle all along.
That, my friend, my love, that is the question.