Dust Layers

This catacomb of cacophonous silence.

Conscience is resilient but body wavers.

Do the stars look back at me? Do they reach for me as I reach for them?

I know they see a better version of me. 

The dust layers collect densely, the weight burdens.

Knowing there's a light to follow, but it forever scoffs. 

Does the hole grow deeper, or does it lack incentive?

Its reach will persevere, even if in bursts.

I need a jacket.