Categories > Original > Poetry1 Reviews
Here comes the new peice of chaos, the new peice of Disasterology.
The scientist works quickly at his creation,
Perfecting and imperfecting features,
Beneath him is his creation, a human,
A young girl, to be exact.
He, the scientist, gradually builds on his creation,
We begin to see the features of this girl.
This girl has long flowing locks of rich, brown hair,
Setting nicely on her olivy skin,
Her eyes, open and non-functioning at this time,
They were the rich colour of mud brown,
With hazel surrounding the iris.
Her lips, a rich pink, but they were cracked.
Upon her arms, sat many scars,
Making her arms bleed red,
The scientist frowns, and begins to clean the scars,
Yet they only come back again.
The scientist, he wipes his brow,
And began to clothe her, to hide these scars.
The girl is now dressed in a long, black shirt,
A dress, to be more presise,
This dress, is short sleeved, but placed upon her is silk,
Upon her feet are placed soft ballet slippers,
The scientist smiles, his creation is finished.
The girl, this creation, she opens her eyes,
And looks at the world around her,
At the cold floor tiles to the cracked basement walls,
She scans her surroundings carefully.
She then notices the scientist,
And gracefully moves towards him, cautious.
What am I doing here, she did ask.
I made you, replies the wise scientist.
What do you mean, made me, asks the innocent being.
You are my creation, a gift to the world, is what the scientist says back.
Do I get to roam free, into this world, asks the gift, the girl,
Yes, my child, roam free.
This girl ventures into the outside world,
Yet, she did not know how to live,
She caused chaos, havok, wherever she went,
She had no idea what she was doing there.
Here she comes, the chaos causer,
Here she comes, the peice of Disasterology.
A/N: The creation was me by the way, just so ya know.