Bottom of a Barrel

I’ve never scraped the bottom of a barrel Nor have I sweeped the skies Simply wafted past achievers And collected tears from their eyes And in all my embarrassment My ghosts clap for me My measure is the measure I set Not a race to isolation A pincushion of withheld tears My lip is bloody from sewing my mouth shut Fit to burst past even willing arms And out of all the burned shadows I’m seared deeper in these walls Who knew that sideways was worse than going down?