Perfection is a disease of nation
That we all caught
We think we cure ourselves from it
By changing ourselves
We have no immunity from it
Once we catch it
We never get rid of it
Because it consumes our minds
Short Poems
Table of contents-
Art●
-
masterpiece●
-
smile●
-
disease of nation●
-
mirrors●
-
depression●
-
Brokenness●
-
colors●
-
Butterflies●
-
battle●
-
Mask●
-
funeral●
-
puzzle●
-
wings●
-
words●
-
insecurities●
-
soul●
-
Blessings●
-
photograph●
-
wildflower●
-
moon●
-
tale●
-
roses●
-
forever●
-
story●
-
edge●
-
hurt●
-
knife●
-
cards●
-
exist●
-
piece of art●
-
Beauty●
-
trust●
-
Dreams●
-
blur●
-
fear●
-
ink●
-
Queen●
-
shallow soul●
-
believe●
-
simplicity●
-
heart of gold●
-
cities●
-
glimpse●
-
cruelty●
-
lands●
-
Crown●
-
The painter●
-
Piano●
-
stars●
-
bitter●
-
sunset●
-
minutes●
-
reason●
-
Magic●
-
Heaven●
-
real happiness●
-
cuffs●
-
jar●
-
The end
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