not there

to know that i'd rather be losing and falling
is straight away farther than two is appauling.
the waste in this place of unknowingly far
replaces the taste of a drink in a bar.
sucking me dry until wet comes to boil,
how far is the farthest one can be from soil?
how long is the longest a string can be strung?
how down can the up go to reach back to one?
when will i get there, up on the same hill
where once stood a man with a solid gold grill.
he spoke to the listeners and laid there a will
then he sold them the map to the place with the pill.
the one-in-all solve in the face of another;
reluctantly strong yet defacing my brother.
to think that it's over and forget the rest
would be recklessly choosing to omit regret.
regret is the function of being, of life,
and nothing comes close to the edge of THAT knife.
borderline lunacy losing the plot,
why are the others all there and i'm not?