The windows to my soul open inside chaos
The chaos distorts the already severe reality, the questions desolate me.
Inside of me, the installed chaos distorts me and drain prospects.
Child of experience shaped in chaos, the options were survive or collapse.
The windows of my soul open for inertia
The time weighs in the balance, comparisons, self pity,
but from my nonconformities the chaos isn’t fed
Child of armor forged in chaos, doesn’t question to not get hurt
The windows of my soul open inside new times
New times, new quarrels, old scars, almost perfect carapace
The chaos is in a frame, venerated as painful lesson
Child whose home has its foundation in chaos, is tough, is strong, is wise.
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