| Transfixed upon the imperfections
|
| Every rough edge of the presentation
|
| I can pick apart all of my reasons
|
| But still I can not rise above them
|
| Have you always been so perfect?
|
| Always known how to play the game?
|
| It’s starting to look that way
|
| Your construct leaves no human trace
|
| And in the ditch of your path I lay
|
| Nothing is coming together
|
| Just fragmenting over and over
|
| I need to stop putting my pen to paper
|
| Lest I need one more hopeless reminder
|
| One more portrait of a person
|
| Who has failed to grow in any direction
|
| Resenting my petty resentments
|
| Never truly alive in the moment
|
| My eyes keep glaring inward
|
| If only looks could kill my thoughts
|
| So preoccupied with my escape
|
| That I have become always away
|
| But all I’m packing are my doubts
|
| And a broken heart I can’t take out
|
| It’s so easy to fake the happiness now
|
| To watch each other wield those smiles
|
| Throwing people off the scent
|
| Of years of futility and discontent
|
| There’s so much disparity
|
| Between the perfect image and the empty reality
|
| Ask what does it matter
|
| Not what does it mean
|
| When you can have all the answers
|
| But they will push you deeper in
|
| Circles
|
| Endless, pointless circles |