The Chaos

The result of mismatched streams of life.

Once long ago, it was born.

On my head — forever — it shall be adorned

The hair on my scalp; The brain in my head,

conveys the self-destructive environment in which I was bred.

Not outwardly good, nor outwardly bad

my life was not even overly sad.

Stuck in the middle of a tugging war.

I was pushed, pulled, shunted, and torn

into the pieces that you see today.

I have never managed to recover — to my dismay.

4 portions, stuck in a loop.

Pestilence, Death, Famine, and War.

All internalised — residing in my world.

I am the harbinger unnamed.

A soul with no true fame.

The last of a dying species.

I am questions unanswered. I am indecision at its core.

I am genetics forced, and an oracles thought.

I am life untamed; I, am Chaos.