Perfection.
Perfectionism.
Perfectionist.
That's is the human race.
We say we're free but only as much as a caged bird.
We're angels that fell.
But we're also our own demons.
We secretly hate ourselves, not for our flaws
But for our 'perfection'.
We are specialists in our own sick, twisted ways.
Time can't stand still.
But we can.
So for now, I'll keep going.
Day by day.
Night by night.
