Fortune

This poem is the cry of someone abandoned.
A wound so carved and deep,
That projected him into uninhabitable alleys,
but also elevated him to galaxies never explored;

Friends are his family, harbor, and oxygen.
Chaos is his fortune, destruction, and home.
Attention so non-existent that it became his fetish;

Twisted paths,
Faulty decisions,
In the hope of a benevolent future,
Coming from all the smiles once he snatched,
That, like stars, make him brighter.