Poetry

Ladles of Chaos (#428)

Chaos everywhere I look,
How long can it simmer and cook?
Thick as swamp mud,
Sickening as the crud,
Bubbling against the rim,
It’s looking pretty grim,
Smells of rotting milk and meat,
Mixed with filled diapers and stinky feet,
It’s almost too much to bear,
So hard to keep breathing in air,
There are just gallons and gallons of this muck,
Get near it, and you’ll get stuck,
Chaos stewing.
Chaos brewing.

Any Thoughts?

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