Perfect

You are perfect. But your soul is as cracked as the lips and the nails that you bite and break because you hate everything about yourself. And you’re perfect. But your pink and your white is as blinding as the shades on your eyes that close under your pressure because you hate everything in and of yourself. And yet you’re perfect. But you don’t have to break like the glass or the dull of the gold on each of the rings that you hide between clients because you hate everything that’s associated with yourself. And despite it all, you’re perfect. But I know times are hard and I’ve seen all your friends die and I know this will either be the end or the beginning but regardless it has to end or begin with yourself.