The Sky is Falling

my mother got the size wrong on the dress I was buried in, so I looked like a woman of loose morals in my pretty little coffin. even in the end this black sheep embarrassed them dragged our name through the mud, caked our family crest in excrement. my frenemy showed up fashionably late, flaunting the world’s largest bouquet, all that sweetness feigning concern she once told my husband if I was on fire... she’d let me burn. the sky is not falling until the moment it is. a wolf, a girl crying knee-deep in his ribs, in his kiss, in his sins. why do I let the world decide who should live? why do I let the ache decide who I am? why do I let my heart guide me to the precipice again and again and again (and again)? again and again and again (and again)? the sky is falling from the moment I open my eyelids to the moment I lay me down to rest. to pretend that it isn’t is the real original sin. the sky is falling (the sky is falling) the sky is falling (the sky is falling) this is not news to anyone paying attention.