Chaos is come again. Not stealthily,
As demons ought to, though in dead of night,
But as a drunken, rowdy roommate might,
Barging in to land on top of me.
He drinks up neither beer, though, nor whiskey,
But my soul's essence, which, though labeled light,
I do not wish to lose - still he is tight
With it, and stumbles on me heavily,
Crashing me down. I tumble on myself
Alone yet falling from his violence
Clutching at anything - a chair, a shelf
A door - to break my fall from innocence,
But slam into the ground. Chaos is come
And all around me, his infernal hum.
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