Perfection

it is the anger that you often don't realise is eating me alive

but i try enough to fight it down and away from myself

without the clenched jawline or great deathly gazes

it feels like i am hallucinating everything far, far, away.

do you know or realise how much i care?

the hurt that resurfaces whenever you're gone?

it's short and delicate

a needle en pointe

spiraling like i know you'll never admit.

it was always your choice to question me

i knew from my dreams you would sway and falter eventually

but it never occurred that maybe i was not good enough

again

because what would that mean i had learnt from anyone else?

...