Imagine our collapse, the calamitous end, the shape of our rubble
the fault in our structure, the how did this happen? the sure signs of trouble.
Is it a weakening side that causes lean-to collision
or a central erosion bringing V-shaped submission?

I ask ’cause you were the one carrying doom on your tongue
folding the stories before first beams were strung.
You’re too nice, I’ll only going to ruin you.
The good man, archvillain to self, what is he to do?

So don’t blame me for pushing on the pillars–
this exhaustive decline that makes men into killers,
hoping to believe in any other reason
for foundational flaws than I’m a great person.

There are ways to get naked without intimate flair.
Bad timing? Need to heal? Secret side thing? I don’t much care
because I see a quiet desperation that should quake us to the core
when even the gentle men don’t want to be kind anymore.