Pursuaded Perfection


I know I'm flawless, I could assume.      I aim to do others, impress.  At best I'd fill them with "Flawless Fumes", making them think I can conjure up sweet tunes, smooth moves, and nothing less but amuse.  I'd make the ladies swoon, turning down the envy heat of others a few degrees "cool" & "calm".  Somehow, soon.  But I'm not all I seem.  My harmful words cracks hearts weak like porcelian glass.  I'm the one guy who can easily coast past, no recollection of imperfection.  My flawlessness lies in my humble touch of words, whether good or not so.  My apologies, as my morbid comments, are both equal to their extremes.  They affect everyone around me, not that I'd care, or so it seems.  They will people into certain actions, whether it's for my benefit or their own intimate attraction.  My only regret being I have not explained myself yet enough entirely for you to know my endless pursuit of perfecting the most pretige talent for anyone to uphold: Perfection of Literal Pursuation.


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