Thinking a Parachute Upwards

Unable to fall down.
I'm thinking twenty-four seven,
So much that it's burning
The air I'm falling in.

I ask myself constantly
Of the origination from when I fell off.
Refuting to travel with gravity,
That would crash me into the earth's troughs.

Why am I stuck on auto fire?
If I remember right it must be this life,
I am scared to stop thinking,
As once that starts waning.

I feel like it would be the end of me,
Even if all of it is digging my own hole.
I keep thinking of a literal degree,
That will give me a meaning to survive.

I don't admit to the validity of queries,
Inflating across my aging mindset,
Not to end up like the next reality series.
Selling out on a staged set,

To give up my brain;
And just plop onto the gravy train.
Put on a pedestal to be laughed at.
Since most likely I'll do something that;

Might get myself killed.
Since that's where all the thrill,
Is attracting most of the fans
That everyone ignores in the stands.

Some people behave that way to death.
Although it's not what I want on my behalf,
I get told that my ideas won't make it,
Yet I am pushing this parachute like a gift.

From some sort of miracle boaster.
Thinking it into a hot air balloon.
Got to find me that sky boater.
Got to stop being the buffoon.

That must be why,
I cannot stop the firestorm of thoughts.
That must be why,
I never pretend I am not in fright.

Since deep inside I am striving
To be a revolutionary fracture.
A life's work to be turning,
Around the downhill spiral of this feature.