"Bells getting louder, louder in here."
"Bells getting louder, louder in here."

But is not loud in this head of mine.
Only flesh, ripping out of a chest,
As pieces within me sink
while I am still stable,
standing
Foot on dirt,

But I am sinking.
I am sinking.
Foot through the dirt.

Which is to say
Grief is an imperfect theory,
a useless syringe
and science cannot perfect it,
You see
It can suck the life out of him
But I cannot squeeze it back

So I am sinking.

Because one minute it was a spot in your chest,
The next,
Doctors turned it into a bullet
Poof.
What miracle that a godless being
turned holy.

While I am still sinking.

Here God,
Take it all.
Everything I've laid my eyes on,

And I'll be
weightless in this euphoric
silence.