Eruption.

I was once reborn
and called chaos,
but have since
evolved.

Once a story
abandoned mid-sentence,
unfinished images left
within sepia dust,
only to be forgotten forever
like those childhood stories
of fairytales-

those lies we were taught
and led to believe
as children.

While permanent changes
began to unfold,
mistrust blooming
like an origami flower,
all within the blink of an eye.

Those stories once penned,
from blood onto parchment,
became etched within stone,
shaped to everyone else's idea
of perfection,

becoming lost within
the toxic cloud
right before eruption.