glitter gutter .

(copyrighted image)

Perfection.

another disease set to attack.

the cost; lost on my own back.

tears to dry, what to cry; such galore.
my sore body is cramming to the core.
forgot what to worry about anymore.
but know to gush, flush out the door.

the lead, the need to itch at everything.
and to keep my tears in my plastic sling.

too much caught around my spider web;
lately loosing every depth of every ebb.
just cannot keep living of break-downs;
and holding my head above the drowns.

rather not rot from my own reflection.

in the name of defection's perfection.

sick of the cliché of fucking someday;
she bunged believing in a someway.
with the hope to mail myself away;
hith the dope package of what may.

cause we all are what we grope.

and no mope will cut the rope.

;[signed]