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Perfection is a fruitless desire. All my attempts make me tire. Still, I have this hope: Maybe one day, I’ll learn to cope.
This mask I wear everyday, It is only a disgrace. Covering who I really am, But showing what I want people to see. This mask is the perfectionist in me.
I made it! I'm in! Eighteen and the best.
I am a liar and I lie to myself everyday Wake up every morning, telling myself that it’s just another day But I already know what kind of day it is I’ll be just like every yesterday that I hated
Every second I think, "Why couldn't life be
I want to do it right. See, and that's my problem right there. Because in my desire to do life right I become terrified of making mistakes And turn to what the world (the general consensus) says.
I was lost in the details And the devil was there We spoke at length The small talk was fair