A Tragic Perfection

An imperfection with a feathered mask
a heavy monster under the flight of a bird
Your imperfection is your own perfection,
You strive and kill and die to be nothing less
if perfection says jump, you will fall to your doom
if it says fly, you will reach for the moon

But If perfection wants you scarred –
what will you do?

cut into your bloody flesh-
scar your body with perfection
cold, stark breath escaping
in white frosty puffs
in the messy night air
tainted with impure words and thoughts and emotions
Sound stopping as silence rings like a bell
through your bones as people weep for the
trampled flower, sweet flower,
whatever happened to the sweet flower?
It wanted to be perfect, remain perfect
Die perfect in order to always be

to this very day

never to wilt –
never to stain –

a tragic perfection.