THE OFFICE OF PERFECTION
Why do you do that to yourself ?
Start by looking at the glass roof that is my eyes
Look deeper,
deeper into the glass window where my black Iris sits dilated surrounded by brown smog
Dilated,
that is your first clue.
Read the dark quick sand that is under my eyes
They tell nightmares that would keep you awake
Listen closely to the growl of my bellyache,
it's occasional calls of malnourishment tires at moments almost convincing itself,
You are not hungry
Do you ever notice my hands wrap itself around my wrist
Wrist that are small in your sights
But,
Not small enough
Not enough
To me
Watch me stutter,
stumble on my words
Neurons of language dying slowly
but
the office of perfection I hear it demanding orders, at the back of my sick brain.
Sick
Brain
Do you see it?
Do you hear it?
I crave perfection
YOU ARE READING
4am
PoesíaI spent most of my life learning how to feel less These days I teach myself to feel more Kill your emotions and you'll die along with them C O M P L E T E D 2016•2018
