Under The Weight Of Perfection

Mon, 02/12/2018 - 00:46 -- graces1

I let him latch onto my fantasy 

I let him become a dream, I could no londer touch

He became a delusion of my conscience 

He was everything I painfly molded him into 

Yet after awhile the edges seemed rough where I touched them 

The shiny paint of his exterior was peeling, where you could see patches of his now grey center

And under the pressure of my hand, he caved and shattered at my feet

His thick skin cut my palm, and my blood ran red on the shards

In the end I cried out in pain 

Not for the fact he was in pieces 

But because it hurt 

This poem is about: 


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