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?

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