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Perfection

Once people had an urge to inspect me,
dig dirty nails beneath the surface and discover a story,
deranged.
They came calling, a gift at my offering, a kiss filled with regret,
meek and wicked.
I fell deep into the arms I thought would warm my heart, finally make love real instead of a foreign word tossed around from generation to generation not really knowing what such thing meant.
Boys offered lies,
sweet as my serpent heart portrayed.
My eyes, the poison of fangs fell deep into stucco walls, ignoring the glare of distant beings forcing hatred to cloud around me.
Murky air a poison.
apoplexy.
I shriveled in the distance hiding the petrified glare in my eyes.
what little hope I had left was gone, the perfection I once saw in the mirror had sunken in, the skin of holes and warms.
Perfection.
It meant nothing in the end except for posies and broken wings.





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