These faults, how much they seek me.
Imperfections, how close they come.
A blunder of pure guilt may only bore through my mind.
A failure for perfection dominates me, and throws me to the ground, as it insults my diminutive life.
A pocket, carrying the most crucial things to myself, and risking its breath for mine.
A package, holding my light, my road, my future.
A wooden chest holding my imperfect treasure.
While we seek for perfection, it sits useless, untouched, and distasteful.
The bitter mind of perfect will manipulate, but the scars will still wait behind the accomplished cover.
Now flawless is an understatement.
YOU ARE READING
Perfection
PoetryWe're all in search for our perfect faults. The ones that kiss us with beautiful irony, but they hang in front of our unsuspecting eyes. The scars, the imperfect bumps... A final copy is never changed.
