timed writing

Writing off the only thing that I liked to talk about
I know the way you remain in time to refrain again
You're out of line
I'm out of time

The ebbs of days don't decide.
But how could we tell the time?
It's really just a habit.

You say it's fixed for now
But that's saying there was something wrong

The stilly hands
Your broken hands
My bloody lip
And circumstances don't wait for consequence

You'll be late with your magic words
The way you move
The way this works is anything but certain

Still, it's hard to say out loud
I wrote you off and detached the sounds
It's still my first reaction