"At the time."

"Can't tell if ceiling's rising....

I knew it all; I knew it well.
the hands collide when curtain fell.
I felt you in the bridging.

 

Stupid is as stupid does.
I did it all, all because
I didn't know the difference.

 

A saint in sinners selling souls
this perfect way to not sell themselves
to the sounds that we still bury.

 

A candle stick, a striking match,
to match the drapes
from your parents that you borrowed.

 

The stretch to death is always getting smaller.
Escaping space to break the collied chains,
your blackened bones lost color.
It's way too late to call her.
 
It's always getting later.

A past predicted,
preached, perfected,
to find there's no perfection.

 

Keeping time in these contractions,

there is not time to lose.
Stupidly, was losing you,
apprehensive, now, I move.

 

Stupid is a sinners crutch
to rope your eyes to the moldings' dust
with the lights that we still borrow.
It's getting later, I know.

I knew her,
we're still always growing sooner.

Author's Note

...or if the floor is falling down."