crooked and bent, unfortunately.
rather horizontal, yet not vertical, either.
things were tattered.
a bit out of order.
not so much alphabetical, as they were fundamental.
disorderly conduct was the outline of being.
well, mine at least.
I tried to undo the done, but truth be told it's easier said.
list making, journal entries, crumpled up sticky notes: it wasn't ethical, practical, me.
"messy." "cluttered." "disaster."
no matter how you phrased it, the synopsis only equated to downfall.
despite efforts, the only words to come about, regardless of definition, were meaningless.
no matter the number of volunteers or court mandated helpers,
the spew was not going anywhere.
black, durable bags clung to the chests of many.
but I was still buried within the destruction.
Even after days, after hours.
The avalanche of tyranny resulted in seclusion.
somehow finding solace within my disgust.
no one could save me, but me.
