Chaos

It's 1 pm in the afternoon,

I'm laying on my bed,

Starring at the fan,

Circulating air in full speed,

With blurry, teary eyes,

That leave salty stains on my face and the bedsheet,

And there's no reason to stop,

But so many unknown reasons to go on,

For making through this,

Inevitable phase I didn't think I would face,

Between the chaos that's happening,

And the chaos I (maybe, didn't) create.