The smell so memorable, so sweet and touched. The taste so predictable, so sour and abstract. It flows down stream promising a visit, stopping at precarious and disjunct moments.
Never staying long enough or meeting at a tedious moment in time, but you stay within my memory talking from a preluded spark of emotion; invaded by a thought prolonging commotion. Depicting perfect occasions we could have.
Perfection is a vulnerability created by society as we strive to be this imaginary person.
The person is defiant to everyone's definition of perfection, every piece being part of an abstract statue of a lifeless model.
Conflicting false idolism, a feeling so ugly it takes over people's lives when they want to be a part of that life; but not realising they're drifting apart from that life.
It constructs an appeal to these following the system, and pulls them towards a naïve slavery.
It scars every unique defection a person is born into, every gift and wonder they haven't unlocked.
People spend more time flowing
round an overpriced clothes shop, when they don't truly understand themselves.
Perfect people are an attraction to these wanting to be popular, when they don't realise they're all just the same.
Perfection isn't attractive, and you're not perfect.
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of the mind
PoetryEverything is copyrighted as it maybe appear in my own songs.
