satellites crashing

they've watched us enough
something had to give
maybe they got tired of floating
and just wanted to not live

slowly caressing the stratosphere
shy, like a mechanical bridal affair
feeling hotter as they enter
digging deeper as if they don't care

leaving skin, bones and screws in the sky
falling falling falling ready to die
but then the air becomes somewhat breathable
and hope rears its hood on intertwined cables

satellites crashing in wide nets made of steel
no one cares what they think or feel
trapped to be repaired, ignorant of their pain
till they're ready to be shot in the sky again

---
They watch us, and it's ironic that this poem will go through at least some satellites to reach you.