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

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?