To Be Discontinued

I have issues with narrative.
Scientific or not,
Stories have a structure
That feeds us like the saddle clasp

Of hemoglobin molecules,
Delivering the fuel
With which we burn our lives
In precisely bite-sized packets.

Offloaded, stories float away
To go grasp more fearful
Oxygen we can gasp.
Their delivery is perfect

And their content keeps us going,
But there's no difference
Between any intake
Of breath, however desperate,

And any other, first to last.
The message is the same.
Carry on as you were.
Never fear. Back with more later.