The Batt;e

When I’m bored I look I look for imperfectionsImperfections I can perfectPerfect what is already perfectIt doesn’t make sense to others But it does to me  I look with my eyes Or feel with my fingersFor something that I perceive is there But it isn’t It doesn’t make sense to othersBut it does to me I perfect something newOr something old It doesn’t matter As long as I perfect myself No one understands me But I do The sensations of perfectingIs a reliefUntil I look at the damageAll the scabs and scarsAll over my body I hate itBut it’s me  I wish to stopIt’s like an addiction Or disorderI don’t know I just know I can’t I’ve tried so many times in the pastAlways a failureI’ve just given up on tryingWhat’s the point? If you always fail I know I need helpBut they refuse to see it as a problem I’m the only one who sees it that way A monster I can’t defeat on my own They think I’m like goliath and it’s DavidI’m really the rest of the army The ones who is scared of trying to defeat himBecause he will smother me into the ground.I’m his slave I’m its slaveI’m not in control of me    

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