This chaos seems so beautiful,
like the words twisting on my tongue.
Oh the world is dying slow,
and yet she feels so young.
Suspension upon this thin air,
so hard to breathe; now, count to ten.
The world is twirling in tiny circles,
suppose that means it's time to start again?
Twisting, writhing, folding unto itself,
this world shatters every day.
The sun sets quiet upon the flaming world
and the night engulfs us in grey.
