We’re the glaring definition
of absurdity—everything
felt right when it wasn’t time.
Nothing
ever fell into place
under any sacred principle
of nature— we declared
our own laws
just to break them.
Like sadistic gods, we
established a beautiful world
and destroyed it, just to
fruitlessly reanimate
the salvaged ruins
after we inevitably
change our minds.

We dance to our own song
perpetually
out of time— and if any chord
happens to resonate, one of us
will always be
just one blatant
half-step away
from any satisfaction
of harmony.

You say what would fix us
is a metronome, but
you and I both know
that it’s awfully pointless
when neither of us
will ever stay faithful
to a tempo.