A Sentiment of Me

Havoc sometimes feels much contrived

Yet it's not chaos of what I've survived

I'm internally depraved

The labels do not seep through me, but are engraved

I can look at my existence as a malicious mistake

My tears turn to blood, but not coordinated enough to form a lake

If the love around me isn't real, I know my being is a mistake

I can't be truly corrupt

I do have morals, but they can turn baleful

I'm still finding myself like them around me

I want to achieve, but I'm torn, for I am unsure if alive or dead is what I want to be.