Loop the Loop

I'm spinning out of what was once control
Down in a headspin to a field of black.
I feel the suction pulling at my soul
And the dull ache of wanting to go back.
There is no part of me that's fully whole,
So all of me at once feels partial lack.
I cannot execute the proper roll
To right myself - the stick has too much slack.
And if I wreck, then what has been achieved?
What value is there in another crash?
Will I be missed? Bewailed? Remembered? Grieved?
Or will I be devoured by the smash?
I can't pull up, and so I will find out.
I only wish I didn't have this doubt.