January 9, 2010
There is something wrong
With this so called
Perfect Life
My eyes so bright
Try to see the Perfection
But fail to take it in
They curse me because I cannot
See their Perfection
I instead see cracks
And broken faces
Filled with trepidation
Where is the Perfection?
Is that fear it?
Is the pattern of blood
Spilling out
From the soldier's head
Where is it?
I can't see it
Does that make me deranged?
No, it means my eyes are open
And theirs are closed
There is no perfection

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