At first I see an open wound infected and disastrous It breathes chaotic
catastrophe it cries to be renewed
Its tears are the color of anger, they dry to form a scab To touch, its stiff
and resilient, underneath, the new
skin breathes As outwardly cliche as it may seem, yes, something under the
surface says, "C'est la vie" It is
a circle, there is a plan dead skin will atrophy itself to start again Look
closely at the open wound see past
what covers the surface Underneath chaotic catastrophe, creation takes stage
Its all been saved with