The Artist


Perpetually stuck in a revolving door of anarchy.
In the most simplest of forms, I am a mess.
A delirium of unpredictability.
Soft mayhem.

A predestined fate followed out incorrectly.
A predictable direction, veered off course.
A plan that never goes to plan.
An abundance of unknown.

The arrhythmia of a dying heart.
Humanity without morality.
Billiards on an oval table.
An anthem, syncopated.

What is chaos but the formless matter that existed before the creation of the universe?

Photo Credit Illusion

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