It Looks Bad

Oh, sweetheart what to do with your pictures from school

The butterfly collection and your piles of diaries the family tree

Bring out the matches cuz nobody will be hereno more grounds to stand on and nothing to call here

Oh sweetheart what to do with your notion of time

If seconds could multiply like waves do propagate It looks bad, don't it?

Draped into ways that will keep you glow like hyper-granulation can be carved out

Nothing to call here Nothing to call here

Oh sweethear how to cope with the fading of hope

The heavy inhalation and the pull of gravity

This residency you love dearly will turn to powder in your hands

With airy insulation it will burn fast